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Page O' Poems  

          The Way

The way she holds back the cappacino foam
      with the curve of her spoon
      as she cautiously pours in the sugar;

The way she pulls her hair around the nape of her neck
      to her left sholder
      and the way it falls back down along her spine;

The way she eats a toasted rye sandwich
      with only two fingers and a thumb
      while the others curl away into her palm;

And the way she holds her long hand out under her chin
      for each bite;

The way the curve of her upper lip flexes when she speaks;

The way she falls silent between each sprint
      of our conversation;

The way the spots flash and fade in the darkness
      when I press the pads of my fingers
      across my eyelids
      to the bridge of my nose:

All these things I see.

--Z.T. June 25, 1999