"On the smaller scale, it’s hesitantly spring"
What a wonderful scene! I really like this. Also, I have the same problem where my phone starts vibrating as soon as I try to go to bed. After lights out, I don't check my phone until morning!
This one hit me square in the solar plexus. Thank you.
Ah! Regret - the gift that keeps on giving / poets a reason to get up in the morning / just before death (apologies, Billy Collins).
This poem feels like a quiet snapshot of two people trying to reconnect after a lifetime of living.
The phones on the table say so much how the world keeps buzzing even when we’re trying to be present.
I love how the poem suddenly zooms out to cosmic time, as if to remind us that nothing big ever really gets resolved.
Then it drops back into early spring, hesitant and unsure, mirroring the awkwardness of meeting again.
The server’s casual “back in a few” grounds everything in the everyday, which somehow makes the moment feel warmer.
The line about wanting to be exactly where we are carries a soft, familiar ache.
It captures that strange mix of closeness and distance that comes with seeing someone after decades.
There’s a tenderness in the way the poem holds both the vastness of the universe and the smallness of a café table.
It hints at how time changes us, yet leaves certain feelings untouched.
By the end, it feels like a whole history is sitting quietly between two people, trying to find its way back.
What a wonderful scene! I really like this. Also, I have the same problem where my phone starts vibrating as soon as I try to go to bed. After lights out, I don't check my phone until morning!
This one hit me square in the solar plexus. Thank you.
Ah! Regret - the gift that keeps on giving / poets a reason to get up in the morning / just before death (apologies, Billy Collins).
This poem feels like a quiet snapshot of two people trying to reconnect after a lifetime of living.
The phones on the table say so much how the world keeps buzzing even when we’re trying to be present.
I love how the poem suddenly zooms out to cosmic time, as if to remind us that nothing big ever really gets resolved.
Then it drops back into early spring, hesitant and unsure, mirroring the awkwardness of meeting again.
The server’s casual “back in a few” grounds everything in the everyday, which somehow makes the moment feel warmer.
The line about wanting to be exactly where we are carries a soft, familiar ache.
It captures that strange mix of closeness and distance that comes with seeing someone after decades.
There’s a tenderness in the way the poem holds both the vastness of the universe and the smallness of a café table.
It hints at how time changes us, yet leaves certain feelings untouched.
By the end, it feels like a whole history is sitting quietly between two people, trying to find its way back.