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Mark Forrester

A Visitor

At daybreak a young man huddles in the stairwell of our building. His coat is thin, his clothes well-worn. Outside the snow is driven in raucous squalls. I ask if he would like a cup of coffee. He mutters and nods. When I leave for work, the coffee mug—still full—sits on the hallway floor. Only later do I hear what he is asking: “Sugar.”

winter morning
broken branches
in the pasture

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About the Author

Mark Forrester has taught English at the University of Maryland for more than 25 years. He is a high school dropout, a former chef, and a husband, father, and grandfather.