The more times I go back for more
and find it there like a bowl
of dogfood left out on the back deck
by an unknown and therefore
unthanked hand, I think I just might
be getting somewhere with this
unrequested life. It’s hard to wake up
at 5AM, but a voice keeps
telling me to, and I keep listening.
Willing myself to rise, unstrap
the clammy splint, and shove off the wad
of twisted blankets: Alone
after Lili rolls over, repositioning
her enormously swollen belly once again,
“with child.” The children already
here go on snoozing despite the malicious cheep
of the coffee maker and my shuffles.
I raise myself in winter feels like zero degrees
because of north wind and avoid
the sliding door, the bald moonlight. Stuck inside,
bad odors. It’s scary to feel so dead,
so stagnant and wasted. To know you have nothing
to offer, perhaps you never did. But then,
a small movement, almost unnoticed, occurs.
Better follow. See what happens.
Cameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is The Thing Is (Briar Creek Press, 2021). He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and (soon, three) children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.