Poetry Porch: Poetry


Intimate Stranger
By Barbara Siegel Carlson

You don’t look at me directly
         only glance across the table
Your black coffee eyes hold time
         lost before and after us
half filled with an intoxicating drink
         Your voice hushed as mine —
Is it rain, relief, or grief
         that flows through every street?
And still I walk with you
         past dark shoe shops, cafés
and clinking glasses
         to an empty table
Here, we sip some wine
         A few drops stain the night stones

Copyright © 2020 by Barbara Siegel Carlson.