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Oblivious
by
S. Thomas Summers


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The spilt merlot weaving
across the kitchen counter
reminds me of Moses,

his staff stirring the Nile
into a bloody sauce.
Or, if I circle my finger

in the wine’s dark hue,
it becomes a hurricane
gathering shards of salt

like clouds – or a galaxy
swirling its arms across
this forgotten space beneath

the microwave, but it’s only
a trickle of merlot that will bruise
a kitchen sponge. The glass

lying on the counter,
a cut flower, needs to be refilled.
We’ll drink together in the dim

light that hides you
from the mess I’ve made.

 

© by S. Thomas Summers

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S. Thomas Summers is a literature and writing instructor in New Jersey. The author of two chapbooks, he also conducts workshops for both students and teachers, using contemporary poetry as a catalyst to spark interest in unmotivated students. He writes because he believes poetry develops a keener appreciation of breath and, as of today, his lungs are clear and healthy. Learn more about Scott at www.thelintinmypocket.wordpress.com.

 


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