Nighttime Tea

They meet when
 the others
are long home
perhaps
putting feet up,
watching football
or soap operas
saved from
the workday.

They take
off their coats
and sit, pulling
their chairs close.
Their server
places two cups
of hot tea
and honey,
without asking,
on their table.

She quietly lights
the candle,
turns the lights
down low,
and leaves them,
only returning to
fill their cups
in silence.

He takes her
hand in his,
and they talk
about their day,
all the while
looking into each
other's eyes,
sometimes laughing
with silliness.

They get up
to go; and
breaking her
self-imposed
silence, the
server says,
"I don't often
see such love
in this place,"
and refuses
to take
his dollars.

On Keeping Secrets

*This month our prompt was "Secrets."  I wrote the second poem first, and then on my way to Writer's Group, I was sitting in my car in bumper to bumper traffic, thinking about secrets and wrote this one:

Secrets
are
wild birds
caged,
beating wings
against
the bars
bloodying their beaks
for freedom.

Or they plead
quietly
for release
even
if only
for a minute,
bargaining...
promising...
to return.

But once let
go,
the cage
is open.
No matter
how hard
we try
to put
them back,
we can't.

They are
free
and now
the bars
 are ours
alone.

kathi

Secrets

Secrets

I have none 

anymore-

well, except those 

of others who've 

given me

theirs.

They tumble

 around

 in my head 

or sometimes 

in my gut.

Some, I'd like to tell, 

but promises are promises

and they must be kept.  

I gave up on

whispering 

my secrets 

long ago.

It seems

they always 

escape

one way or another.

So now,

if I have one, 

I tell it freely 

and realize

it will be 

out there for

anyone 

who wants 

to find it.

kathi