Hot Cocoa Impact, Marshmallow Intentions
He hates the taste of coffee
so he orders something sweet.
Steamed milk and
two heaping powdered scoops;
stir, then lick the spoon.
Add whipped cream and
all the fixings for
a gooey reflection
of his greatest weakness.
A psychic in the basement
of a best western once
warned me that this man
should watch what he eats.
She said cutting down on sugar
would help regulate his moods
but she meant that someday,
in a fit of rage,
he might hit me.
In our half-silvered
bedroom mirror,
I conduct a close study of
a child squirming in his seat —
void of temperance
and oblivious to my fear.
I search for signs
that he might comprehend
the dividends of delayed gratification,
exhibit some growing
sense of self control.
He reaches for that marshmallow every time.
Drawn Out
Healing is harder during these elastic days.
The hours yawn and stretch while
the year beads like a snowflake
on my eyelash in the January cold.
It swells and falls with a single blink.
I sketched your likeness
in the bottom-right-hand corner
of a book with a newly broken spine.
Fifty-two adoring images of you;
on each page, an indecipherable change—
how slowly spring becomes summer—
until I take my thumb to it
and see you smiling,
waving,
walking away.
They say time is a salve.
On Christmas morning,
I press a warm washcloth
to the memory of you,
draw a little sadness to the surface.
One day, there will be nothing left
of you in me at all.
Raised in the Canadian prairies, Glennys Egan writes poetry in Ottawa, Canada, where she works for the government like everyone else. Her work has been published in publications such as Taco Bell Quarterly, Capsule Stories and Funicular Magazine. You can find her and her dog, Boris, online at @gleegz.