Sammy Bellin

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Before you rose, I made tea

in ponderous motion, in a suicide-gray mug.
Before I could speak
I listened to the music of the morning:
the shuffle of stiff feet, the crisp
flick of the sticky light switch, the mutter
of dustballs scurrying across linoleum,
the murmur of European starlings
making their way home.
I sipped the tea, listening. I picked
up William Carlos Williams, and read
Spring and all. I sat, cold
but for thoughts of spring.

Sammy Bellin grew up outside of Pittsburgh. His poetry appears or is forthcoming in Rust & Moth, wildscape. literary journal, January House Literary Journal, Delicate Emissions, La Rotonde Review, Barely South Review, and Sontag Mag. He currently lives in Lewisburg, PA, and enjoys hanging out with cats and wandering in the cold.