She called it a perfect afternoon —
we had just left a poetry reading
and were enjoying our coffees
on a café couch beneath a red umbrella
slightly shaded from the hot Florida sun.
We were reading some of the short ones
from a thick book of Octavio Paz poems
that she had just purchased
to compensate the bookstore owner
for hosting such a fine event.
Very quickly it became apparent
that dear Octavio had a thing for
the word quiver which he used
multiple times across a few of the
early poems at the front of the book.
She said she really liked that word
which of course set me all aquiver
so I had no choice but to write her
this poem that I knew she would like
because it uses a word she likes.
And because she also confessed
she likes the shorter ones the best
I will resist getting too carried away –
unless I have done so already –
and I will end it, right here right now.
