ideal Sunday Morning

May 24, 2020

My ideal Sunday Morning?

My love turns over and asks me to spoon them and we fall back asleep like that. When I blink open, I see the back of their neck, their triangle of freckles, shoulder blades, which is my favorite place in the world. The coffee is good. We drink it outside while the dogs chase each other around the yard. We’re dog-sitting someone else’s pup, of course, so there’s at least four here today.

One of us plucks at an instrument while we talk to each other. We both took the day off so there’s no rush. The news is good today, something hopeful, something we can believe in. I’m making breakfast and they’re hungry. It’s all I need.

Megan Falley
Interviewed by Katie Clark 9th October 2016

A sad truth

December 26, 2019

Lips

September 5, 2019

One morning in bed
I felt the blue sky
dance against my skin
like the lips of
anonymous strangers

Crunch

August 26, 2019

On the bed

August 18, 2019

I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are
on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

Carol Ann Duffy
You

essential-reading

a good idea

Bed

May 31, 2016

BED1

My mother taught me to bleed based on the instructions of my grandmother– she made sure I might never forget. My daughters’ birthdays hurt like bee stings.

He says I am ugly, which is why he wanted to touch me, my breasts swollen unchristian things, and painful; there was darkness wrapped inside my apology.

                                                                   (my sex)

He looked upon my girls, who slept. He said they sleep as buds sleep, those carved nubs which only flower bright in funeral dress. I paid for anaesthetics.

Cut a little deeper, I told him, cut high up into the beds in their hard round bellies, cut, for if it hurts enough I heard you might find Him, deep, deeper…

                                                                  (resting)

On a small pink pad – like a petal, you said – He’ll wait, for the only explanation is the paradise you’re trying to extract, entering my little cubs in hard neat slits.

If you find Him, tell Him to come to me. Tell Him I’m sorry. Tell Him He’s wet my appetite – I want to be a fruit, or foam on the sea, I want, I want, I want…

                                                            (they bleed)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Always keep a tally…

September 28, 2015

keepingatally