Peter A. Witt – Warm Sheets

Witt LE P&W April 2024

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Live Encounters Poetry & Writing April 2024.

Warm Sheets, poems by Peter A. Witt.

Warm Sheets

Bed is still warm, shadows
of bodies still impressed,
scent of night dreams linger.

Morning breeze gently sways
sheer curtains, sunrays warm
rumpled pastel sheets.

Outside twittering of sparrows
pecking for flower seeds
fill the air with laughter.

Overhead the honk of geese
fill the sky with wonder,
mockingbird pauses his chatter.

Aroma of freshly brewed coffee
wafts among the kitchen table chairs,
a hint of marmalade and toast to follow.

Hands caress each other in the pastel light,
knowing a new togetherness has begun,
warm sheets smile in anticipation.

Pushing Their Way Through

Sidewalks can’t stop the growing grass,
which occupied the dirt before workers
in overalls, hard hats with heavy equipment,
rebar, and concrete showed up to turn
a path of green into off-white.

Not to be denied, tendrils of grass
poke their way between the carefully
laid squares, welcomed by the ants
who too have found their way
from underground to the surface.

And then the dandelions appear,
begging for the sun, bees hurriedly
buzzing round their flowers
as a phalanx of weed whackers
cut and spew the crevice invaders,
who come afternoon must begin
their journey to the surface again.

Glass Cleaning
and Other Remembrances

You asked me what I’d remember most
when death’s fingers remove you
from my view, I replied without hesitation,
the curl of your lips when you witness
my old man glasses, once again smudged
with a mysterious fog that seems to attack
the lenses of an 80-year-old’s bifocals.

Knowing I can produce the twists near
the corners of your mouth, I seldom clean
my glasses, even smudging them
on purpose with my fingerprints so I can
witness the color growing in your cheeks,
feel your eyes sparkle with love,
and hear you say something like,

give them here, I’ll clean them,
again, for you,

with the soft emphasis on again.

With your passing, I clean my glasses
every day, whether smudged or not,
just so I can remember your half smile,
the love in your eyes, and way
you teased me with your words.

© Peter A. Witt

Peter A. Witt is a Texas Poet and a retired university professor. He also writes family history with a book about his aunt published by the Texas A&M Press. Peter’s poetry deals with personal experiences, both real and imagined. His poetry has been published on various sites including Fleas on the Dog, Inspired, Open Skies Quarterly, Medusa;s Kitchen, Active Muse, New Verse News, and WryTimes.

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