Morning on Purnama
Waking quietlySurrounded by unadorned wood
The unburdened blue morning light that
Creates a facade of coolness in this
Human-sized oven in the tropics
Hot but home nonetheless.
Glassy faced with the sweat of sleep
Limbs loose and heavy
Head and eyes filled with dew
Thoughts and senses cloudy but fresh.
Running water to a tile tank in a tiny tile room.
Boiling water for coffee.
A muted din of aluminum pots and pans
And the rapid click of the gas camp stove.
Sharpened edges of material reality such that
Even the grate on the window is beautiful.
Settling in behind a familiar blue batik
To let untethered thoughts escape
The barriers of fully alert consciousness
The comforting clatter of neighborhood activity
Metal gates screeching and clanging
Vegetable peddlers
Motorbikes
Dogs, children
Chinese folksongs at maximum volume
Knowledge that there are others
Engaged in this predictable routine
I'll stay inside the house
Writing until the morning light has gone
A brief respite from the demands of social humanness
Pleasure in the possibility that nobody knows I'm home.
Poetry by CPom
Read 860 times
Written on 2010-04-23 at 04:33
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