Morning Coffee

by Annmarie O'Connor

No need for the gas heater,
I suppose,
Next to our feet.
Only for atmosphere
As we quietly sip our coffee
Across from one another
Searching for nothing to say,
As we're already saying too much.

I'm glad you can't hear my thoughts
amidst the clamour of our awkward jabber.
You can hardly deal with your own,
I know.

That's why you fear me
The feminine arm of empathy
longing to assuage the poet
with her tender strokes.

You chide my knowing,
my understanding,
preferring to keep me at arm's length,

across the table,

sitting here,

quietly sipping our coffee
amidst our empty words.

Annmarie O'Connor is a 29-year old writer. Originally from Long Island, New York and formally living in both Italy and Ireland, she now lives in London where she writes part-time and works full-time in film publishing. She completed her Master Thesis on the works of Douglas Coupland and holds an avid interest in postmodern theories about memory and identity in contemporary culture. Her poetry has been featured in Mslexia, Lexikon, Voyage, Snakeskin, The Gentle Reader, Purr and Scriobh and has gained her two concurrent nominations as International Poet of Merit. She contributes to ELLE, The Irish Independent, The Dubliner and The Greenwich VIllage Gazette.
Note: Featured Author for May 2001
E-mail: amsym4@hotmail.com
Writing interests: Poetry
I.D. Theory articles: "Morning Coffee" | "Dogstar"
Links: http://www.pfsc.org