Words slip past our lips
and rush to occupy
empty, awkward air.
If you'll give me ten minutes more
I'll tell you I love you,
but for now
keep staring at me that way.
It's been too long
since I've moved the coffee table aside
to do more than vacuum,
and even longer since this house
has heard John Coltrane.

Barbara Kiberstis makes her home north of Boston, Massachusetts with her husband and daughter. Music has been a primary influence in her writing; strong undertones of rhythm can be heard in her work. Her poetry appears in online journals including The Writer's Quill and Purple Inks, in print journals such as The Open Review and Jocundity and the forthcoming anthology Table for Five and Other Reservations.

E-mail Barbara Kiberstis at
MissBlynn@aol.com

Other poems

[ BOOK REVIEW: "Payday at the Triangle" ] [ PRAYER FOR EMILY ] [ BREATH ] [ A MAN WALKS INTO A BAR ] [ MAMA AT THE PICTURE SHOW; MAMA IN THE GARDEN ] [ ÉMER AND FAND REMEMBER ] [ MOMENT'S NOTICE ] [ THE NET IS BROKEN ]

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