Morning poem # 1
Posted on | September 24, 2007 | 3 Comments
The sun falls in broken rectangles on the floor
shards of yellow plates
we gather in our pockets,
for the winter ahead.
Our skin bare to the wind, the grass tattoos
our arms with zig zags and clover
while the moments grow steady
and the verdant humming
of summer dwindles
into the big-moon nights and stillness.
Category: Poems
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I am Christina Rosalie
Hello. I'm so happy you've stopped by!
I am a multimedia storyteller, digital strategist, idea starter, stalker of wonder, finder of four leaf clovers, MFA graduate student, and mama of boys. My first book,
will be published by SKIRT! Books in September, 2012.
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ALWAYS:
September 24th, 2007 @ 11:21 am
“shards of yellow plates” – - perfect.
September 24th, 2007 @ 1:19 pm
Here’s a quickie
After an Equinox
The air seems
to take a breath
We listen again
a symphony of attention
September 25th, 2007 @ 10:12 am
Monday, 24 September 2007
Each day, spent in a sea of spent Kleenex,
mouth slack, my head left soft,
confused. My head can move, slog
along, pillow a hope at the end
of the evening. There are vibrations
in my lips, a tingle, trepidation.
There is want, a one nostrilled exhaustion,
the stale taste of snot and juice.
I have spent my weekend buried
in blankets, drifting off into some
netherworld, all pressed against memory.
There is soup, there is a cold hand
pressed against forehead, there is you.