I want to see things again rather than thinking I know—
these fits and starts of believing what is true.
The dog licks her bone, her work. This is real.
And at desks all over the world, people tap at keys,
answer telephones, write letters, fix cups of coffee.
An endless lapping of tongues, waves of this.
But sometimes cream stirred into too dark coffee bursts into streaks
of lightning to pulse down into the black sky of the cup,
and we find ourselves caught on the edges of what is real.
About the Author
Jennifer Judge is a poet and personal essayist whose poetry has appeared in Literary Mama, Mothers Always Write, Rhino, Got Verse, and on a bus (Wilkes-Barre Poetry in Transit) and is forthcoming in Blueline and Schuylkill Valley Journal. She has lived, worked, and created in northeastern Pennsylvania her entire life. She has taught creative writing and composition for 19 years at King’s College in Wilkes-Barre, PA, and earned her MFA from Goddard College.