Morning Coffee

Following the curve of the Great Lawn


I turn towards your public bed


The bench with the plaque from the Levy family, remembering loving parents


The wooden frame of the Delacorte Theater throwing a shadow blanket over you


Your college coat, graduated into frayed hope


I sit at your feet, holding two coffees


Heat escaping, pushed by this November morning’s wind


Mingling with your breath while you sleep


I touch your sneaker and call your name


Wait a few seconds as the coffee warms my thigh


You stir, eyes flutter


You see me, moment of almost pure stillness before you reach up your hand


I place a coffee cup inside your grasp, our fingers touch


I blink quickly, cough, ask how you are


You sit up, cup to lip


I can wait for an answer


Still seeing all the versions of you


Beneath the unshaved unwashed face


The “ifs “and “did-I-do-enoughs”


Hanging between us, a torn curtain never to rise


On a play neither could rewrite


Praying I am dead before it closes

Glenn Moss

Glenn Moss is a media lawyer by trade and has been been writing poetry, stories and plays since high school in Brooklyn. He went to Binghamton University, where he wrote a five act play for a course in Jacobean Literature. That experience encouraged him to continue writing, and in law school at Case Western Reserve in Cleveland, he wrote a play for a course in Jurisprudence. Returning to NYC and a life in law and family, he continued to write poetry and stories amidst contracts and business plans. He believes that each area of writing is enriched by the other, with even contracts benefiting from a bit of poetic dance. He has poems and stories published in Ithaca Lit, West Trade Review, Oddville Press, 34th Parallel and Oberon Magazine.

Contributions by Glenn Moss