Every Morning

Every morning she begins her descent to start her day,
grey floor, walls dripping with blood
maroon paint.

Every morning the start of the day’s din, raucous and carefree,
like wicked slimy tendrils creeping and encircling
from the ninth circle of hell.

Every morning she hesitates at the head of that staircase,
morning’s harsh sun beams cat o’ nine tail beats
through the window behind her throwing a long, cascading shadow.

Every morning she admires that shattered shadow sister,
the long segmented form, compartmentalized and broken,
an anonymous void.

Every morning in her hesitation she considers:
What if i run to the furnace of the sun and never look back,
or pay Charon triple to take me home?
Cassius plans my assassination only a staircase away:
making that gleaming golden hearth of vita, dulcedo, spes that much farther.

Every morning in her hesitation she considers:
What if i follow my shadow’s lead and cast myself free?
Head dashed against the stone to join Judas?
The body finally meeting with the soul:
embracing this sallowing sour plague of despair.

Every morning she begins her descent to start her day,
grey floor, walls striped with maroon paint.
Every morning she begins her day,
walking down that stairwell.
Every morning she begins her day
quietly.

charon-ferry

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2 responses to “Every Morning

  1. A note about the lowercase “I”s in this poem. That was a conscious choice. I won’t explain further than that because I think that might be insulting and I trust that you, dear reader, are smart enough to think of a reason why I might do that.

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