Every Morning A Wonder

by julydogs

Every morning a wonder.

How many are we allowed to carry?

How far from Edison’s light must we travel?

I see rags of quick moving clouds pushed by the sun through a blue sky.

I hear a tennis ball pocking on the clay court east.

I hear the sea from Africa breathing without pause.

I see black Bella the cat grooming in her sun.

I see infested Spanish moss draped in the arms of two big oaks.

I see a pale yellow building with curtained windows

hiding grandmothers and aunts abandoned.

I see empty white patio chairs.

I see a small pyramid of coquina shards.

I see a loud orange highway pylon.

I see small new birds scooping through the branches of a suspect tree.

I see a white door closed on my paper history.

I see Bill Vollman studying me from the jacket of his Atlas.

I see in the glass the dentures made and fitted in Tamaulipas

where my dentist’s neighbor’s head was delivered to the federal police

in a suitcase.

How many are we allowed to carry?

How far from Edison’s light must we travel?

Every morning a wonder.

 

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