In the curve of her neck, there’s longing for the man.
In her closed throat, fear.

Through sheer will
she freezes the waiter’s sleeve mid-air
as he presents the bill to her lover.

Stop, let me bend back the hour,
I haven’t been abandoned in a third-rate café.

Just give me a little blue to fly toward, that’s all I ask,
and just a little time.

Image credit:Hiva Sharifi/Unsplash

Trish Saunders lives in Seattle and Honolulu and, in her imagination, near Crater Lake, Oregon. Her poetry appears in The American Journal of Poetry, Califragile, Pacifica Poetry Review, Right Hand Pointing, Eunoia Review, Silver Birch Press, Seattle Poetry Bus, and other places. Right Hand Pointing published her chapbook, "Last Note" in 2019.