1 poem

by aaron dargis

Tuesday Morning

I haven’t cleaned a pan in days
and can’t think of a reason to sweep the floor.

I’ve been sitting at the table, smoking,
watching a finch go to and fro her nest all morning.

I envy her task to knit a home, ever temporary,
lay an egg, hatch– needing a mother.

I press hard to my navel and feel each breath
rise with bird song, scent of peony

and strike a match to light
my last cigarette from the pack. 

I picked the neighbor’s peonies, arranged them
in a pitcher I use for lemonade.

I worry when he’ll fiddle the doorknob–
liquored, speaking gently for my body.

I dream with wind to my back.
My only joy is beyond the windowpane,

curve of distant hill and other side of
idle life I once lived serene in my ways.

The wind raises a branch laden with buds
bursting with the morning sun.

"Tuesday Morning" was noted as Honorable Mention for our 2017 Up North Poetry Prize.