I may not be the Jesus Christ I once fondly imagined myself, but I think I must make a good cup of tea

by Mary Rose Manspeaker


After all,
          there are so many things I turned out not to be

              I take comfort in counting them
                every time the sun rises through my window

          If I know nothing else, I know the facts of my life
         as they break into other mornings

              well enough to reach inside
                 & draw your curtains

                narrow my light: a single column on the wall
            until I relearned the childhood joy

          of parading through the window
        to dance through airborne dust.

There are so many things
          everyone else might still be. I try to see
            how high I can count before the sun begins
           its long descent. Steam rises from my tea.
         In the intake before the sigh
dust motes dance in the light
          & we all can be—



Mary Rose Manspeaker was born and raised in West Virginia. They currently reside in Brooklyn, where they work for independent publisher Three Rooms Press and are pursuing an MFA with The Writer’s Foundry at St. Joseph’s College. Their work appears or is forthcoming in Hobart and Lammergeier.



%d bloggers like this: