By Megan D’Albero

I have listened too often

to the doubt. My dog

sleeps at my feet every

evening. I must have

done something right

to earn his love. As night

moves forward, I sit beside

the low light of the lamp

my mother gave me. My

mother gives me gifts made

in Ireland. She used to drink tea

by pouring it from the cup

into the saucer and

then to her lips. She

collects teacups. I collect

teapots. Sometimes I drink

my tea by pouring my doubt

into a saucer. It's gone

until I brew another pot.

About the Author

Megan D’Albero is a poet based in New York. She earned her MFA in Poetry from Sarah Lawrence College. Her work will be featured in the upcoming anthology “If Memory Serves: Stories from the Table” published by Good Printed Things. Megan writes during the time she finds in between her 9 to 5, and writes mostly about the living she does outside of her 9 to 5. She currently lives with her husband, son, and two rescue dogs.