Sobremesa

In Sobremesa, Jeffrey L. Buller lingers in the unhurried space after the obvious ending-the quiet hour when conversation outlasts the meal. These poems move between wry observation and tender confession: a grocery cart with its own agenda, a houseplant's silent judgment, the ache of a voice overheard in a supermarket aisle. Buller's gift is noticing: the way a lamp keeps vigil for tomorrow's forgiveness, how a receipt can itemize modest hopes, why some jokes echo at three a.m. With humor that never denies heart, and intimacy that never slips into sentimentality, Sobremesa invites readers to sit a little longer-past the small talk and the tidy moral-until what matters has room to arrive.

By turns reflective, playful, and disarmingly direct, these are poems that believe in the consolations of everyday life: coffee gone cold, books that wait without complaint, and the stubborn mercy of ordinary afternoons. Pull up a chair. Stay for one more story. The conversation's not over yet.