Dancing with the mop at Café Zia

By Charlene Baldridge

When my ear cuff sings the blues
I realize I'm sick of classical music.
I lost his silver twin years ago
and now, whenever I feel
the need of a hug,
I must wear his goldness.

The young man who owns
Café Zia sometimes dances with a mop.
He is curious about the ear cuff.
Guess he never heard of an old woman
wearing a lover on her ear.

Cuffo de oro whispers
in a language only I understand,
keeps me from weeping
somewhere on El Cajon Blvd.
between my sister's birthday
and the anniversary of my son's death.

He wraps his legs around
the edge of my ear
and holds on tightly
because my life depends upon it.

Early in the morning,
when I want to sleep some more,
I spread my fingers wide,
lay my hand gently over my head,
and pretend it is Bob, comforting me.
That way, I can forgive him
over and over again.