by Amy Karon


Tea rings the porcelain
bellies of our cups,

each tannin band
a sip, a sentence,

a beat of the silicon
heart of this valley.

I soak dishes,
scrub pans counter-

clockwise. You
tie your shoes,

turn for a kiss.
The door clicks.

On the fridge, a grocery list
and your doctor’s note:

Continue Crestor
See nutritionist

Hands dripping, I reach
for what you last touched—

bright curl of doorknob,
half-read book,

and on the table, your mug,
empty, cooling.


Amy_headshot_1Amy Karon is an award-winning poet whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in such magazines as Balloons Lit. Journal, Eastern Iowa Review, Nonbinary Review, Half Mystic, Iowa Heritage Illustrated, Lagan Online, Cricket, and many other outlets. She also is a medical writer specializing in oncology. Amy is a Colorado native who has lived throughout the United States and in India and Costa Rica.