By Chet Corey
I am reading Meng Hao-jan’s poems
and drinking the last of tea at twilight.
My wife, up from a late-in-the-day nap,
has taken the dog for her evening walk.
When they return, we will begin supper:
last night’s soup, oven-warm hard rolls.
By then, dark with its limb-breaking cold!
I leave Hao-jan bundling firewood home.
Copyright 2018 Corey