la mañana

Wake up as though surfacing in deep water,
seaweed in my eyelashes, saltwater in papercuts,
dreams’ slow smolder, or
little points needling in around the seams.

I like my mornings how I like my coffee.

Watch 40 miles of pavement glide by beneath my headlights,
get to work early to listen to the coffeemaker’s gurgle, shuffle papers around, put my forehead against my desk.

Wait for the light to sneak across the tile,
wait for voices to fill up the empty space.


One Response to la mañana

  1. chelsea says:

    send this to a literary journal please.

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