Reading in the morning light
she looks the part of a peaceful
old woman, every inch of lace
and black taffeta in proper folds,
in proper place, a small book in
her lap, nothing here to cause a
fuss except maybe a few birds
fluttering in an delicate cage
beside her. The thin filigree
bars filtering the early light.
But in the night, the full moon’s
glow will wake her. Aching, she
will rise and dress and read more,
hoping to satisfy hungers she
knows as her own. Her husband will
stir in his sleep choosing not to turn
and hold her. Exotic plants will call
her name. She will discuss with
them the roots of her longing.
Anna Cotton is a writer and retired teacher living in Lakeland, Florida. She has published poems in Miramar and The Avalon Literary Review. She also has a poem forthcoming in Earth's Daughter.
The Ekphrastic Review
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