One clear afternoon
we met for high tea
in the formal dining room
of the Hochelaga Inn.
Civility stilled the house
as we righted our collars,
unfolded our napkins.
Across from me
you set your spoon to saucer
and when you looked up
I watched the clouds in my cup
stir into the dark wells of your eyes.
The darkness
became my sadness,
my sadness,
the afternoon reprieve.
Chairs scraped floors.
Birds swept windows.
Tea settled into milk.
About this Poem
Allison Chisholm lives and writes in Kingston, Ontario. Her poetry has appeared in The Northern Testicle Review, the Puddles of Sky chap-poem The Dollhouse, The Week Shall Inherit The Verse, and the Proper Tales Press chapbook On the Count of One. She played glockenspiel in the Hawaiian-dream-pop band SCUB. On the Count of None (Anvil Press, 2018) is her first full-length poetry collection.