Saturday, April 11, 2015

Day 10: Waking First


Waking First

In sleep I float, hover over cloudscapes
when the alarm creeps in,
its buzzing bleat distant at first,
whispers of tomorrow from another universe

until a fist hits my back,
pushes me back into bed
just to stretch, press a button,
roll out a hundred pounds heavier.

I shed clothes as I walk,
kick tub wall, scream silently.
My eyes only open when water hits,
hot pricks on warm skin.

I don’t remember dressing
but fabric swishes while I stumble,
lurch toward coffee—
God’s morning gift.

The world emerges
a sip at a time,
listen to my brain hum,
reboot for another today.

I sit in silence while birds sleep,
breathe in the quiet dark
an hour before the sun will reach
to seduce a slumbering earth.


I hate waking up early--but I love early mornings.  This poem was an attempt to capture that dichotomy, both the jolt to an early reality of waking and the peace of settling in to a morning before the rest of the house and the world wake.  I selected words that were meant to emphasize the distinctions, both phonetically and semantically.

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