Behind The Mews

Behind The Mews
By Taylor Graham

The first time you heard doves in the morning
through the window of your cousin's house,
you thought it was the sound first-love forces
into fig trees as they grow, into their leaves
and fruit, so they drop, not quite ripened,
not nearly perfect: a curtained sound of ache
from the brighter, blinding side of glass.
Your cousin tugged a pillow over her eyes,
and sighed for sleep and missed the moment,
like something that passes every morning,
too common to remark.

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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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