By Dustin P Brown
The wind is an old friend.
We meet on Wednesday afternoons
to catch up over a coffee.
Some days she’s late, held up
by work in the Gulf Coast
or Ireland, somewhere more interesting
than the corn-plained fields of southern Michigan.
I never mind
because her stories about
broken quartz shattered
into a thousand stars
against limestone cliffs
remind me that even
destruction can be beautiful.
This week, I tell her
over the hushed babble of
other café-goers
about my cat’s death.
She promises to scatter its ashes
over ancient pine forests in the
upper peninsula. She pays
for my coffee. She offers two
kisses on each cheek
and a sincere ciao before
returning to the world. It’d be nice
to be able to do the same.
Dustin P Brown is a US-born, Spain-based author of poetry, prose, and the occasional drama. His work has appeared in other journals like Lit Shark and Bacopa Literary Review.
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