Sunday, 01 November 2009

• 

  The Sunrise on Fifth Street
  For M.

  I open my eyes. Laying still,
  I stare at the gauzy, delicate white curtains
  illuminated by the morning sun.
  The clock on the bedside table ticks faintly.

  Unhurried, my eyes wander about the room.
  The Christmas cactus on a stool in the corner
  is blooming, brilliant red blossoms drip
  from the many splayed jade-green stems.
  A Diego Rivera painting hangs on the wall:
  a dark-haired girl in a cream colored tunic carries
  a cluster of calla lilies.

  Outside the window: the faint flutter and
  chit-chat of chickadees in the aspens.
  They clatter together the leaves on thin white branches.
  I smile at them, but they can't see me.

  The figure beside me stirs. The heel
  of his foot gently kicks at my shin.
  I press my breasts to his bare back and he rolls
  over, eyes clouded by sleep, struggling
  to focus on me in the bright light.

  Good morning, he hums. He pulls me toward
  him and our knees touch. With his eyes still
  closed, he slides his hand out from under the white sheets
  to rest it on my cheek. He feels me smile with his palm
  and he smiles too.
  You were in my dream last night. I feel the crease
  deepen between my brows. There was a short pause.
  The world was ending.

  He opens his eyes and lifts his head from
  the pillow, listening. Everyone around me was dying
  or crying. Some people were singing and dancing,
  Some people were making love. You were
  looking for me. We were looking for eachother.

  Did I find you? He asks.
  I don't think so. I shake my head.
  He looks at me and I watch the corners of
  his mouth turn downward. Leaning into me on
  the mattress, he kisses my forehead.

   

  ©BLBruce, 2009.

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