Green parrots squawk across the apartment building’s courtyard,
early morning light slips through the blinds, the way it glows
I suspect the fog is still in the streets, laying heavy and slick,
leaving drops on windshields, sidewalks darkly wet
rise to take the dog out, rise to make a cup of mushroom coffee
with coconut powder for cream, rise to groan, gulp down vitamins,
scoop fat dobs of oatmilk yogurt into the mouth,
flip open the laptop and
there’s a low murmur of a podcast playing, the distant ding of someone’s
alarm going for minutes on end, God, I wish I could sleep through that
but my brain is wired to wake early and run run run through the day,
I’m so tired
the fake coffee has chilled, a thin filmy surface,
the coconut oil is delicious, I slip bagel halves into
the toaster, wait for them to dry out to a degree of heat
hot enough to melt pads of butter
I eye my partner nestled in bed, a mass of blanket, a peaceful face,
our dog has returned to his side, curled up tight, the toaster spits,
halves jump to settle, I pry them out with tips of fingers,
I’m not in the mood
words pulse, sentences weave in waves, in and out of my mind,
last night's dreams brush to the surface, unknown faces and figures,
blurred images, voices, emotions, I sit, take a bite and wait,
I can’t, I’m unable to trap anything, the screen shines empty.
Artwork courtesy of our featured artist Ernest Williamson III, PhD
