by Janet Butler
The room is half-shuttered against the light
bright at noon. Heat, an unwanted arm
drapes, a dead weight, over my shoulders.
The clatter of footsteps, rhythmic beat
to bubbles of conversation, drifts up.
They rise and float and burst before me,
sudden intimacy that fades in
echoes bouncing down the drowsy street.
Janet Butler relocated to the Bay Area in 2005 after many years in central Italy. She teaches ESL in San Francisco, and lives in Alameda with Fulmi, a lovely Spaniel mix she rescued in Italy and brought back with her. Some recent or forthcoming publications are The North Chicago Review, Assisi, Caduceus, The Tipton Poetry Journal and The Quotable. A poetry chapbook, Searching for Eden, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.