As I Get Ready For The Day

Poem By Sarah Eve

The city sounds of hurrying cars
And anxious hearts
Anxious because they are late for work
Anxious that they are leaving behind
Their gardens to be tended by someone else
Someone they think less invested in their daffodils
Anxious because they’ve been told all the things they must do
Told the hardened steel must melt at whim and reform when the green needs its nudging

So they turn that onto themselves
And stab with the steely knife of discipline and deterrence
Forgetting their liberations and pressing their cheeks into memories
Of their mothers’ veils
Our maps are charted by the few
Who sail for stagnant water

The lilies and the coffee cups
The trivial experience
These contradictory messages
Tell us who to be and who to see
and how
To prop our legs
And curve our back
And paint our words
And disguise our breasts.

So in our solace we drive to work and forget those twigs
Those pin-pricks
Sleeping under forest logs is the message we have lost
The spheres we resent
Their binary circular imprisonment
Have I gone too far?
Not far enough?
Should I deconstruct the way these images are seducing my tendrils into laying flat?

And as I ready for the day
My premonitions see a woman without ticks or reservations
Who can exist comfortably in her contradictions
Who is not felt and does not feel like
That one droplet of water which condensates and glides down the window’s pain
Watching itself run out of time to join the others in their puddle
Is the droplet not still a droplet if it never lends itself to such larger institutions of liquidation?

Comments about As I Get Ready For The Day

There is no comment submitted by members.


5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of EVE

We Do Not Need Saving

And in order to save our hair,
From the gush of rushing windy waves
That cause our trips, we must gather early and often
We must fall onto our knees and fake our smiles.

Define

These are just opacities
Gripping the sidebar
Righting the wrong sides
Easing the night steps

'Colour Inside The Lines'

Previewing these dusky moments
You, little mouse, scrimmage for under table crumbs
I rarely sweep my tiles
They are so perfectly aligned

I Sat Beneath The Question Mark

I sat beneath the question mark
And ate the wonderment
Enjoying the digestion
And the churning of the question

Growing

In depths, in steps we slept
And kept
Our lives as rules by two
Within creation somehow deemed

When Walking Out Upon Your Words

When walking out upon your words
I thought I’d rather swim
So, as if upon a whim
I grew a set of fins