morning: brushing sleep

off my teeth.

the room is silent

in that glassy sense of silence;

all small sounds

bouncing on blue tile,

like life as it is

in the margins of motion.

 

I wash my face

with cold water

and tap the razor

on side of the sink

while I wait for the pipes

to turn functional. out the window

I see night stand up

and begin wandering

westward;

frost given style

by the rising signs

of daylight. birds don’t sing –

 

it’s winter here. cats

don’t wander on the garden

lawn. in the bedroom

my girlfriend is asleep again

after waking a little

when I got out of bed. I go to the kitchen

and make coffee,

catch my ankles

on last night’s wine. shoes,

 

coats and take-away chip bags

crumple and creep along the carpet,

scratching their way into sunlight

like brambles, patching rarely

wandered paths.

 

DS Maolalai

DS Maolalai has been nominated four times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016) and “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019)

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