Some days I am Ana’s teacher, some days she is mine.
This morning, we look through her kitchen window,
the one she can’t get clean, cobwebs massed
between sash and pane. The sky is blue-gold, almost
the color of home.
Ana, I say, each winter
I get more lonely. Both of us would like the sun
to linger as that round fruit in June, but Ana says
it’s better to forget what you used to know…


  1. Cathy says:

    I find this poem to be a very lonely poem. The last stanze, each line has a lonely end to it.. I truly like the way it feels.. I love poems that fee..

  2. Adrianna says:

    I think this peom is very well written and very expressive.

Leave a Reply to Adrianna Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *