writing days
robins’ trilling calls me into consciousness,
singing faint, slotted light –
pale infusion behind the dark.
warmth against my skin on sturdy sheets
protect me from
cold ridges of hardwood
waiting for my warm, soft feet
on the way to colder, harder floors.
finding comfort in the fibres of slippers warmed by the heating duct.
water streams gurgling down water pipe throats
splashes cold droplets across the top of my hand to lake water memories
smelling of warm algae-coloured water in
summer bathing suits trapping the fragrance of freedom in fibres of synthetic –
synthesis of then and now in a sound, breath, and memory.
freshly ground coffee beans smells like addiction feels
so that on days when I fill the coffee bean canister,
I shove my nose in the foil bag,
huffing coffee oil air like a dying fish gulping for hope,
remembering how it’s possible to love a fragrance almost more than a child
sometimes.
those early, alley-lit, winter mornings or
whispering dawn summer ones,
I curse the humming, gritty drone of the coffee grinder –
today, though, the whispering light prays louder than the grinding,
creating solace in silence once more.
winter morning candles leak light into darkness;
in summer, they trade heat with early sun-reaching pink fingers into pale blue sheets of paper skies –
scrawling onto pages,
like me,
in this soft light,
forgiving to my blue bic ink
on the smoothness of paper strong enough to hold my heavy words
some days.
on school days,
beginning with robin or chickadee trilling prayers to start the day,
I cradle my abalone shell –
all at once smooth and noduled like an old tree’s hands –
filled with white sage, tobacco, and sweet grass
healing me with pungent-sweet smoke,
after surrendering to flame’s helping heat,
hovering smoke around me to put me right for the day.
on my best day, though,
the smoke hangs on me,
on my paper,
until hunger pangs lift me from my hard, wooden chair.
cramps in hands and legs are worth it
to spend hours
smelling south breezes through bright windows
next to my white, coffee stained writing table.
© r. l. elke
