Skip to main content

The Morning After

                         

 

Eyes out my back window

            Lost in thought

            Ankle fog

            Low rumbling tide

            Shifting sand

Precarious anchored sea grass

 

Winds whistle on salted weather

            Vacant deck

            Adirondack chairs

            Gray scabbed

            Two empty glasses

            Prone wine bottle

Grape stained pool from drips

 

Busy myself with the start of the day

            Grinding beans

            Pressed coffee

            Aroma filled air

            Startling noise

            Ahah coffee for two perhaps

 

Holding my breath before turning around

            Mussed hair

            Sleepy cuteness

            My old tee shirt

            Eyes downcast

            Coffee good mornings

What did we do smiles exchanged

 

Out my window from my breakfast bar

            Two stools

            Side by side

            Eyes on the ocean

            Cupped coffee mugs

            Maple bacon

            English muffins

            Marionberry jam

Comfortable smiles … Everything is right.

 

                        -- Spring 2019

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Sadness on Winter Trees

                                                                            Summer has an indubitable cruelty about itself while erecting insolently upon winter --- Encroaching foliage, choking with vibrant vitality, constricting the last drops of breath from skeletons with names like cottonwood, elm birch, Their bones moaning from the heft trespassed against them.   Where some might see beauty, I am intrigued by the selfishness as summer greeds what nourishment remains in brittle appendages for it is not the fruit that sweetens the marrow, that delicacy is designed for the adornment of summer that hangs from burdened limbs like an incapable curtain rod.   Summer invades like locusts, devouring everything it needs, leaving winter trees to suck their sustenance through dirty rooted straws having just enough strength to endure summer’s assault.   Should summer’s brief existence be questioned as to the stewardship of nature, on the account virtue is not realized in such an abrupt         
  What Death Caused Her   by Derek Ellwood   Her mouth was like a vase Accepting anything that was put into it The similarities ending there as none Of the things that entered her were Ever beautiful The hair between her legs was Meticulously trimmed Likely the only thing about herself  She ever took care of Tattoo on the inside of her bruised  Wrist read “I heart Mom” A love that had been there a Long time Now both faded with time I imagined her phoning home from An old dilapidated phone booth like The one her crumpled body was Found in A mother’s hello going unanswered A lost child just wanting to hear Her voice before placing the Receiver gently back into its Cradle The same way her mother Probably placed her when she Was a infant Investigating for an identity I found none The only possession a well Worn journal belonging to an  Older brother perhaps The last two entries reading:   I think I’ve been on  This shit too long Drooling into my bedroom  Lawn   In loving memory of my dear