The next morning (a poem)

Yesterday was definitely a Monday. Thanks to the start of Daylight Saving Time, I effectively woke up an hour later. Then I set about working on the e-book edition of The Imperfect Document; in the process, I found a few imperfections in the print edition that I had missed before—so I had to take the time to fix those and re-upload the file. Then I found that I had to fix the formatting of the titular poem so that it would look more as I had intended. By the time I had finished all of that, I was not feeling much in the mood to write. Consequently, I was not happy with anything I wrote yesterday. The poem I am posting was the first one of the day, written before I engrossed myself in all the book stuff…

Sleep was not smooth
but fragmented
as though it were being put in
with a ratchet screwdriver
every time the turn of the screw paused
I woke up

Dreams were not continuous
but in installments
like binge-watching a weekly series on Netflix
but with an ever-changing cast
of people from my past
until I woke up

And all of a sudden
everything is happening an hour later
even though nothing about me has changed
I do what I normally do
anything to get me through
another day

So I take a breath
and have a cup
and look at the trees
being warmed by the sun
Considering all that’s happened
this is not a bad place to be

(9 March 2015—posted March 10)