It's Still Life

I am awake. I wake too early some days. No pattern – not just odd days, not just even days, or days with certain vowels or syllables. Some mornings I seem to wake in a neon blast, a flickering slap. A toothpick in the eye. My bones are agitated the way Jackson Pollock’s paintings sets my teeth on edge, and I rub smiles into my muscles. Try to make them happy so they’ll hold me upright through this long day that’s started too early for sense. And I remind myself that small pleasures are worth my notice — like it’s not winter, like it’s not snowing, like the lupins are blooming, that my husband still likes to touch my bottom. And the sun’s turning the sky the colour of papayas.

 
Morning kissed me twice
It sang tender and cool
Full as life is full

written for dVerse Poets: Haibun #15