The day
quickly sped away
like a too-quick razor
on a stubbly kneecap.
The arm of the couch felt hard
under my head, as I slept,
the daylight
brightened up the floor
in a muffled mesh pattern
as the faint wisp of a curtain
filtered its stunning embrace.
But now shadows fill the streets
and here I am
awake as anything...
And I think about the nature of
circadian rhythms
as I point out shapes in the
cracks of the ceiling.
A sea horse, a spatula, a broom...
I see a cloud shape
clear as anything
magnificent in all it's
cumulonimbus-ness.
Weird, huh?
YOU ARE READING
So I Don't Unravel: Poetry
PoetryJennifer White's poetry focuses on her own experiences as a wife and mother in rural Idaho. She broaches the topics of relationships, death, and her reflections on life.
