Tension rises with the steam of spilt coffee in Jen Burrows' poem.

by Jen Burrows


In the silence that follows,
nothing moves save the steam
rising from the spilt coffee
like spent breath. Heat
from an open wound.

I would like to believe
this is a reprieve
of sorts, but the coffee cools
quicker than the blood
in my cheek, and I know
there can be no going back
when we both feel
we have said too much.

Jen Burrows
| @girlglitch

Jen works in TV drama, writing poetry behind the scenes. She’s also a music blogger, bookworm and feminist fuelled by green tea.