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morning ballad

by Brynn Dizack

humid air eventually
halves the bread, left out.
the quiet valor of their kitchen,
every dish untouched

stitches crossed and
recrossed, an anxious
tic revisited.
moans lure her softly from
an elbow juts out
from the knotted sheet,
an index of time && stories
mapped in freckles and
skin creases
at the bend.

the room is wincing.
light breathes,
through the blind-slats,
through the eyelet

taxing at best.

she draws in deeply,
morning jury
primes the window
for cracking.

(either open, or,
straight up the pane)


Posted on 11/02/2008
Copyright © 2022 Brynn Dizack

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ava Blu on 01/23/11 at 09:15 PM

i never want to be forced to stop reading your poems.

Posted by Laura Doom on 09/06/11 at 04:12 AM

...too long since I've enjoyed reading poetry like this, the way you breathe it

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