Not the thin white paper cigarettes
Of her forebears but dark,
Deep-flavored cigarillos, held
Loose between two fingers, deep drags
And heavy sighs of satisfaction
Once a day, perhaps two, sitting back
Gently running a finger around
The lip of her glass, a taste of
Sweet Moscato or sherry, like a
Delicate Amantillado, sweet revenge
Against a life of discontent
Beneath a great arbor of Lady Banks
She found pleasure in the garden he tended
The subtle scent of basil, the fragrant
Desert soil wet with the evening libation
Dusk darkening, the two of them counted
Diamonds as they glittered into sight,
One by one, the sun slipping into a crimson west
When the night lay full upon them, the last
Draughts of spirits poured out as memories
Tobacco crumbled into ashtray, an offering of sorts
They took one another’s hand like teenagers, laughing
Left behind the sleeping garden, cat curled in his corner
Night birds singing familiar melodies, coyote in the
Distance reciting desert poetry, accompanied
By the rhythm of lover’s dreams, expectant
© 17 May 2014 – Suzy Jacobson Cherry
