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Issue Three & Poetry

Morning

By Kim Waters

 

The bed slopes towards morning

and I hang on to the fringes

of a dream, waiting for the day

to unfurl like a leaf on the ground.

My mouth tastes of gunpowder

as I take my first moon-landed steps

into the cylindrical shower, where the

water drops float in shrapnel around me.

 

Making my breakfast, the Coco Puffs

try to seed themselves over the bench,

the coffee turns sullen and the

toast refuses to show up. Nothing,

but the ticking clock is keeping tabs.

And, as I walk out the front door,

armed with an iphone and car keys,

it seems like just another stubborn morning.

 

Image by: Bekah Russom