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From bed to the cat bowl

Through my bedroom window
the dawn sings, tones of grey,
with sweet notes of dusty pink
 
a rooster singing solo
reminds me it is morning,
 
I catapult out of bed,
Still tangled in broken, messy dreams
I wander through an unfinished house,
Boxes full of  yesterdays
Propelled through memories,
Scattered through a living room
I haven’t learned to live in
 
My grandmother’s red, velvet chair
The whiskey, the talk,
Slim Dusty’s music,
still echo in its softness,
Almost like a ghost,
 
Becoming unwound
By the sounds of a clock ticking
 
I am distracted
By The cat
running the gauntlet
through my shaky legs
 
A stolen glance
At the coffee machine
Fills me with hope
 
Smells of dead fish,
break my glorious revelry
But disgust disperses
As I realise
We are each in our own way
just trying to get somewhere.

 

Bridget is an Emerging poet who participated in Red Room Poetry's MAD Poetry workshops in 2020 

Go to Bridget Dougherty's profile to read more poems

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