Three Poems by Tracie Renee

Empty

For years I thought I was finished
like a teacup, drained dry
nothing left but lipstick
kissed into the rim
and undrinkable
dregs—

then I realized I was finished
like a teacup, preparing
to be filled. 

January

Trees shrugged off leaves but now winter moon
dresses the landscape like a shy lover,
sugaring wasted weeds,
smoothing last year’s barbed remains
into blank banks that glisten
and tremble, ready
to lead us
any
where. 

Public Library

I leave the lights on at close—

all night
the building glows
like a star
anyone could wish on.