I don’t think about
My past I leave
It alone like the
Sleeping devil it is
At least at rest
It’s no longer conjuring
But during my sleep
Is when my innocence
Is stolen like selfish
Uncles to nephews and
Nieces pawed at undressed
And used for their
Own wicked incestuous pleasure
In sleep is when
My demons dance leaving
Me to wonder if
Because of my own
Behavior here on earth
If eternity like sleep
Will be damned just
Like my nighttime’s are
Category: Morning
DayAndPrey
Throwing open the curtains
Coffee cup in hand
Steam rises and fogs
The window panes like
My grandmothers soup to
My grandfathers eyeglasses when
I visited as child
The glow begins in
The east like toaster
Wires after bread has
Been lowered like cannonballs
Onto catapults clouds lumber
Past like drunken sailors
Returning to ships after
Shore leave as people
And their pets wander
About sniffing the ground
And air like wolves
Seeking out the scents
Of day and prey
It’sMorning
There is something about
The last bit of
Night the cracker crunch
Of brittle snow beneath
Feet the cold ache
Of arthritic car doors
And the growling of
Icy tired car engines
That reminds me of
Morning and as the
World starts its march
You slide in beside
Me warm and fresh
Like a Turkish towel
And wrap your arms
Around me like a
River otter to offspring
As your hair fresh
From water and lavender
Tickles my nose a
Kiss lands upon my
Lips like an envelope
Slid through the mail
Slot softly floating to
The floor signaling me
That today is here
MorningCigar
This morning’s sky
Reminds me of
My uncle’s cigar
Many years ago
In Port Washington
Hanging there against
The backdrop of
His thin beard
The center glowed
Crimson almost winking
Surrounded by gray
Ash it hung
There then gone
Between his laughter
There then gone
Between the clouds
Soon to be
All but ash
As he stubbed
It out like
The sunrise does
To the dawn
MorningMemories
It’s really only ever
The little simple things
Like the gurgle hiss
And spit of a
Kettle set to boil
As the first glow
Of day washes over
Last nights late snow
And chickadees bounce and
Bob skitter and slide
On the frozen birdbath
Like children wearing skates
As I spoon splash
And stir dark roast
Into a now warmed
Coffee press watching as
Grounds drop and emerge
Like we did that
One July day so
Very very long ago
In ponds out back
This is my morning
Of memories every day
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 