Skip to main content

Peace Offerings, a poem by Becca Downs

Peace Offerings

it’s early enough

windows still black

I see myself

when I flip the switch

so quiet I can hear

faint buzzing

of kitchen light

heat cranks on,

down the street

a dog barks

to be let inside

I can’t hear the door

but it’s quiet again

and I imagine her

at the foot of a man

outside the wind presses

its face to my kitchen

window, envious

of steaming coffee

and my gentle aloneness–

I can’t see him 

but I know his scent,

feel his cheek on mine

I’m reminded of doves

how they’re never late,

not really,

and the odor

of olives rotting,

shriveled on a branch

half-forgotten, perhaps

in a box in my closet.

I stand at the window

so long my face

fades with pre-dawn

black, morphs

into a fence, 

a small tulip tree

budding like a teen,

a garden plot waiting.

Becca Downs
is a poet, freelance writer, and MFA candidate with the Mile-High MFA program at Regis University. Though currently residing in Denver, she lived in Indiana for 30 years and still considers herself a Hoosier at heart. Her work has previously been published in Glass Mountain Lit Mag, Ecletica, Jupiter Review, Heartland Society of Women Writers, genesis, and more. She enjoys hiking, exploring new places, and finding the best donuts wherever she travels.