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Tea Cups


Like all the days before,                  

painting patterns 

on your sheets. 

I could not bear to hear your voice, 

porcelain roses at your feet. 

It all came dashed to pieces 

swaddled & unborn. 

Like the birds upon the mountains, 

separate from the storm. 

No words, no sounds 

between us 

yet a voice still sings out. 

May those words spill out of my mouth.

Again and again. 

It's just a tea cup after all.

Nick Lattanze is a poet from Audubon, Pennsylvania.

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