IN THE MORNING

... just a little poem of loving as the city yawns itself awake ...

 

Pressed to the edge

running out of bed

no room left on my side.

Trying to breath through

fuzzy, stringy hair in my face

I see your lips drool, your

crusted sleepy eyes still closed

‘gainst the morning light

You are wrapped

‘gainst the cool, in sheets

pulled over your head

‘gainst the morning light.

Wafting from under there

faintly, last night’s bouquet

overloads all my senses

and I lie, still

the caw of crows

and robins’ and blue jays’ songs, 

mingle in harmony with the

neighbors’ grumblings

cars’ tires rumbling

the barking dogs,

the children’s ebullience

in shouting about

nothing

everything.

Our house in the city awakes

with your lilting first words,

“Good Morning” … like a song,

last night’s grand finale,

and together we start our day.

 

 

Reviews

[Cherrie Palmer]

a morning in America, pass the coffee