- after Sonia Sanchez, "Poem at Thirty" I too used to think I liked midnight for the stories music teachers told me Three candles guttering down to their hearts of wax on one end of the piano keyboard while the composer writes notes and staves with feverish ink even as the world goes completely dark Now I like the much smaller hour in the morning when all who are asleep are still asleep and all who have gone into the world have shut the door and left There is a cardinal out of season in the tree The fig's branches lean closer to the ground exhausted from all their summer bearing My tongue fingers the space where a cracked tooth used to be I thought the potted Buddha's hand citrus given by a friend had perished in winter But here it is pushing out its signature green laddered with fresh new thorns
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