by Stephanie Woolley-Larrea
The curtains drawn
the television off
she fixes a mug of herbal tea
sinks into the overstuffed couch--
cat paws on hardwood,
patchouli candle burning,
stacks of novels near her feet.
She twirls her blonde hair into
a haphazard ponytail, blinks
her blue eyes, happy to be free of
makeup and smiles. “Good day?”
her lover asks, not looking up
from her book, taking Ann’s head
into her lap, stroking her cheek
absentmindedly as she turns the page.
Ann shrugs, “Just like any other.”
Stephanie Woolley-Larrea is a mother, writer and teacher living in Miami, Florida. She writes both poetry and prose, and doesn't play favorites. Her work has been published in Sentence, Mipoesias, Gulfstream, and Florida English, among other places.
