"Aubade"
Morning has no scruples. He’s hidden my pen. He forces me to make letter shapes with my outstretched arms and fists. Big circles like the wheels on the bus, Zorro Z’s and karate chop I’s. No one knows what I’m doing. They think it’s a form of aerobics. By the time they understand my cup of coffee order at Dunkin Donuts, I’m exhausted and sweating, so I motion for a soda.
The night wears gloves and hoards his own fingerprints but he leaves evidence of his stay. He holds my hands and shushes them. From within his darkness he shows me the mystery Exhale the rumble and gravel, the letters live in your throat..
© 2009 Brenda Morisse
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