9am, it is cool.
The bedsheets encapsulated what dreams were had
in a stubborn wad and distanced themselves
to the foot of the bed.
And when flung up into the air
they let out a startled snap,
then laid unevenly
in reluctant obedience on the mattress,
forced to leave the lull of the brainwaves
like a sail caught in a sudden gust.
My dreams are now on a voyage without me.
Metal to metal grazes, and brazes and works.
Doorknobs twist and release, click and lock.
Pins in hinges grind rust to state in two groaning lines
“It must be morning,
it has to be morning.”
Faucet hardware turns and squeaks
while enduring gushes of cold water
that’s shared with the dutiful tea kettle
that slaps the stove coils in camaraderie
that makes the kettle whistle in steaming panic.
11am, it is warm.
A tea bag drops into the heat
like an elder Aunt into the thick of gossip.
It draws and drops streams of water onto water
in a cup to make a charm of laughter.
It makes the water chirp and ting with every release.
Tea has no secrets.
Its honesty plucks a smile out of me.
Pen onto paper scratches and drags and scores.
A retractible pen springs and releases, clicks and locks.
The ballpoint raps at the page twice, and twice more.
“It must be that nothing is there.
It has to be that it should return soon.”
The pen surrenders and thumps
lays on the page in disappointing solitude while
the radio whispers the weather forecast
that determines potted plants should be indoors
that rustle their leaves coquettishly against a skirt hem
that paces its way across the house in stormful longing.
12am, it is almost quiet.
The whirl of the ceiling fan above the bed
collects from each tracheal hum what the heart implores
stirs it with an earlier reverie
in loose abandon layers and kindles
this illusion over a sleeping body
in the center of the bed,
like a beacon lit by a mad spirit.
What was missing all of Sunday should be there,
with hushed verve, awaiting the surf of the mindscape.
My dreams have stories of far away places to tell me.
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I had not written a poem in 7 months, y’all.
Outblossom 