Hope is the morning sun
Peering in through my kitchen window
As I sip fresh steaming coffee alone.

Hope is the last workday before
My next day off, when I’m happy
For once, to wish away the hours.

Hope is awkward like a high school dance,
Like two virgins kissing
Beneath the gymnasium bleachers.

Hope is a grocery list fastened
To my refrigerator with a free magnet
Advertising a divorce lawyer.

Hope is a cracked wine glass, packed away
In a moving box that traveled from Kentucky to Illinois –
Just another casualty of the long journey.