What Will Stop Our Hearts
Daniel Manfra
Like a dying light bulb, Fallflickers. Leaves are spread and children play
with twigs as guns until their mothers call.
The air is ice on the grass in morning—the day
a blue dusk without the warmth of sun.
Winter comes slowly through the open window,
unabridged and dazzling. The coffee is done
you say, fixing it Irish since years ago.
I often wonder what will stop our hearts—
the film of grease that floats in our cups; the whiskey
we take to color our cheeks; the sheets of snow
that silence the earth and still our moving parts.
As we stir our coffee with silver spoons, a melody
plays on the porcelain between us and what we know.
Volume CXX, No.1