Daylight

Have you
ever,
in Autumn
mornings
like this,
felt like
unmolding
clay,
shapeless,
melting,
expanding
like a flood,
skin
and
flesh
and
blood
and
bones
the
spilled
contents of
a cereal bowl,
your brain
sliced banana,
your spine
crunchy
like an oat?


3 Responses to “Daylight”

  1. John Bloomberg-Rissman Says:

    Now that you ask, no, not exactly, not like a banana or an oat … unless you mean something like waking to find myself well past my usual self-constituting boundaries and not knowing who I am … THAT happens several times per year, regardless of season …

  2. Ginger Says:

    I love this poem. There is something about poems that make use of the orindary to say something quite profound that just gets me everytime. And yes I do wake often feeling like unfolded molding clay.

  3. Dick Says:

    No, I don’t think I have either. But you have & you communicate it to striking effect. Fine poem.

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