Mapping the Day

Morning comes

like barbed wire, leaving

rust in my coffee,

red dots on the palms of my hands.

 

I hold on tight,

write postcards to an absent friend -

emotions I will never send - 

staring at blank pages, forming

words I don’t quite know the meanings of.

 

Each moment is made up of patterns, etched

into the sky:

white jet trails, lines

in the sidewalk cracks,

the paint on the walls - 

bricks, mortar and stone

and fractured bone - 

chapped lips and weathered hands.

 

Mapping the day,

I bite the inside of my lip to shreds

and taste a sgraffito smile.

Reviews

[Nobody.]

:) yeah. beautifully done. word-pictures galore. cheers!

[[untitled]]

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[Aidz]

A magnificent opening stanza, drawing me into the rest of the write.... well done

[Robin]

this is a metaphoric delight , the poem dripping in emotion-inducing images . all cast upon on such an expansive backdrop ..