Friday, October 16, 2009


Morning’s journey through the smoke of birds,

the flat sheets of faded sky, is mine alone

but my small companions also wake early

to be fed and bundled for the day

the scent, strength, and reach of their arms

tucked into my head. We move ahead.


And though I may seem to—

No. Do forget to chart or care

about them under the stern pace

of university windows and computer screens

like differently uniformed, shutter-eyed guards,

I captain this journey too, alone. Too alone.


But the mornings, getting to there--

It might as well be that it is

her dimpled fists that grasp the wheel 

his bejewelled eyes that watch the road.

their voices and breaths that map me

as I make my way. Make my way away.


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