The One with Mornings by Kumiko Mae

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This poem was inspired by the Dashboard Confessional song, Hands Down

The sky was begging to be remembered, sheets of bloody orange and a blue
such was waking with only
a whiff of your hair that has fallen
to marry my sheets.

I miss how you rustled in panic
when you wake up late, and I, later than my promises.

So was the finger-pointing, harsh and punctual
to the rising of your voice when your hair is wet and dripping
down your back, wetting your shoulders, but I, sit quiet and absorbing
your voice before you go
because all I do is wonder
where have your wings flown
how do you shed your light, then return
with graceful, sometimes ancient, kindness regained.

These mornings when we fight
the undiscovered half-lit realities from our heads remain
to be my best memories of you.
How raw you are
muscles warm from my embrace
then washed off by the sudden need to live, away from love
more often, apart from me.

Until the last alarm would set
you off to where you have to be
for needs that take you every time.
And you don't notice, but I always have
when you realize you're leaving, perhaps standing too far from where I sit waiting, you stop
sigh and put down the brush that you never did use to comb your hair
and look at me from the mirror
where I always looked at you to watch,
your back would turn, you'd be quiet and return,
an angel of lightness kissing my forehead, saying goodbye
to the shadows that we set aside together
or to me
for the time being
so you can live and marry the dreams in your head
in time for us to also marry our lives, someday when we can.