Poetry

Tiny Mercies
​by John Muro
Like the way you caress
Your cup of coffee and
Cradle it, like a cinder,
Near your chest as if
There’s a need to warm
The heart, or your pathless
Humming when tripping
Through tasks; the
Endearing way you
Recoil from cold or
Tuck loose strands
Of hair inside your cap;
Or the noble want to
Always place the needs
Of others before your own.
How much different than
The aging misanthrope
Who watches you, heron-
Still, with eyes half-closed,
Weighing this morning’s
Endearments that nibble
Away at the dark spaces
Where hunger hides
Even as the heart expands.