the start of a brand new day
there’s something missing he said
opening the refrigerator
pulling out a mcintosh and
gutting it with the round steel slicer
deliberately he ate slice after slice in
complete silence
focusing on the uneasy feeling
deep inside his core
outside on the front patio he heard
the daily paper kicking the door
out back a stray cat cried in the cold
garnering the attention of camouflaged chickadees
sitting quietly from within the pines
a gust of wind brought forth new life
from the many wind chimes
beneath his feet he feels the morning train
beginning to roll from a few miles away
a good forty minutes late he tells himself
as the first whistle blows
the sun breaks free from the clouds
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
This sounds like a crucial breaking point of making the point of being late, or retired or laid off… so many possibilities here.. The little images capture a kind of solemn atmosphere for me..
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this piece, Björn…it’s true there are many possibilities here.
Again we hear the train. I could imagine all these in a collection. I would buy it.
That’s a pretty good idea, Rose. Thanks so much!
Routines can be lovely – when we stop to smell the roses as they say. My own morning commute ritual includes a scenic drive along the river road, winding through trees and glancing river barges. It takes an extra ten minutes but you know what? Smelling roses takes time. I don’t think my psyche could handle clockwork routine where the only goal is to desperately pray for the following tailgater to please go away. Routines can either diminish or enhance time – be it master itself or servant to we. Your morning routine sounds lovely. Though I would suggest that Golden Delicious might stir things up a bit from time to time.
Thank you for your thoughts on this piece, John.
I love the voice of this poem – pensive but active – really really liked this, John
Thank you, Kathleen.