The Starkey Flythe, Jr., Memorial Prize
Winter 2014
Teressa Haskew

"Hemp Hearts"

These days I wake to my new neighbor,
	a mahogany goddess a floor above, 
our clocks synchronized for five,
	picture her slipping
from between silk sheets,
	naked maybe, 
while I shrug off an old cotton gown
	damp with restless sweats.

Soon she’s busy juicing 
	blueberries or bananas,
perhaps with a measure of flax,
	or hemp hearts—
her high-torque blender
	trembling my Mr. Coffee.

I hear her dryer drumming 
	wrinkles from her yoga clothes,
sleek florescent pinks I covet,
	buttoning into my business blouse,
wriggling on a pair of hot hose,
	silently totting up the years 
till I can afford to retire.

Maybe then I’ll get myself a dog 
	like hers, 
a small red sausage thing
	whose nails tap a nervous SOS 
on slippery faux wood floors—
	whose ceaseless soulful mourning
the moment I am gone
	tells the whole world
just how much I am loved.
©2014 Teressa Haskew