Sunday, April 23, 2006

Poem for a Sunday night

The Morning Dance
created 13 March 06
revised 23 April 06

To the incessant tick
Of the clock in the corner
The hum of the razor
The smell of soap lingering in the air
We dance the morning dance.

Rubbing tired eyes
Slip-shod feet
Wriggling fingers
In and out of pajama tops
And too-small bottoms
Snaps and fasteners
Little socks and tiny shoes
We dance the morning dance.

To margarine crackling on toasted bread
Coloful characters playing on the screen

Yogurt, applesauce and pretzels thrown in a bag
And milk—always milk—
In bottles and sippies
Gushing down night-parched throats
We dance the morning dance.

Looking for misplaced keys
Hidden phones
Forgotten toys
Extra diapers
Lists and money piled to one side
We dance the morning dance.

Stolen kisses
Double speak
Dinner plans and
Calendar gazes
We dance the morning dance.

Slamming the door
One last kiss
Oops, I forgot…
Full tummies.

Silence.

The morning dance is done.

I wait in the wings,
Stone-cold coffee in my hands,
For my dance to begin.

1 comment:

Legion said...

Very very nice piece.

My particular favorite lines are

"To margarine crackling on toasted bread
Coloful characters playing on the screen"

and

"Slamming the door
One last kiss
Oops, I forgot…
Full tummies."

Evocative imagery, good emtional impact.

I have one fault with the end...You're dance HAS begun. :)

And it's a good one.