Winter’s there every morning
Sipping her unsweetened tea
Reading
Sometimes the newspaper
Sometimes a textbook
Sometimes a novel
Or a magazine

She may have a camera hanging around her neck
Her sunglasses resting on her strawberry blonde curls
Her hands might be stained with ink
As she hurries to write a slippery idea
Before her tea goes cold

Winter sits in the window
Looking out at the street
She wears scarves
Red, blue, yellow, gold, black, gray
Striped, dotted, floral
They snake around her slender neck
Keeping the cold air out

Sometimes, on days where rain kisses the ground
Winter listens to music
Anyone can tell
Because when she listens to music, she closes her eyes
And the toe of her boot taps
To some invisible rhythm
As she stirs her tea

Winter waits
In Isadora’s Café
For what, I’ve never nor will ever know
Her sad brown eyes skirt mine every once in a while
And I can see the impatience
She waits
Every morning
Sipping unsweetened tea