Skip to content

weekends, sleeping in :: marjorie saiser

by on January 16, 2016

No jump-starting the day,
no bare feet slapping the floor
to bath and breakfast.

Dozing instead
in the nest
like, I suppose,
a pair of gophers

underground
in fuzz and wood shavings.
One jostles the other
in closed-eye luxury.

We are at last
perhaps
what we are:
uncombed,
unclothed,
mortal.

Pulse
and breath
and dream.

Advertisements

From → poems

Comments are closed.