doe__eyes (doe__eyes) wrote in moosespresso,

mornings or beginngings

no title yet -- first draft of first poem for Diane's class, due Thursday. subject/theme is supposed to be mornings or beginnings or both, and I don't really feel like i have addressed either very well:

Sunday mornings, I wake to the racket
of my roommate – a nice girl most of the time,
but an angry rhinoceros when she wakes,
slamming drawers and knocking her chair into her desk,
shuffling papers madly, and plastic grocery bags, too,
generally making as much noise as possible,
while I and my boyfriend lay in bed
contemplating sleep and methods of silencing her

But finally as she settles into the morning
and the noise quiets, I roll onto my stomach
and lean my head over the edge of my shaky loft
(my roommate never ceases to test the limits
of its wooden stability) and open one eye to the floor
I can feel my boyfriend’s grip on my side
unconsciously tighten as I lean;
one of my legs is trapped beneath one of his –
our skin is sticky with moisture there

A penny on the floor glints in a bath of sunlight
I stare as I wake, blinking to organize my dreams
the penny winks as the sun moves,
and I am seven years old again
eating Pho on Sunday morning
in my grandmother’s house,
with the plastic on the stairs and on the sofas
and all the ornate mahogany wood –
dragons and lions carved into the legs of tables,
an elaborate Buddha statue in every room,
tiny shrines with red incense sticks and bowls of oranges
that always smelled so sweet
and in every room, pennies on the floor
discarded from pockets and purses
adding to the mystique of my always traditional grandparents

At six I was mesmerized by the uniqueness of the penny
among the similarity of all the rest
At eight the value of the quarter was all I considered
At seven, they were all shiny, they were all there
ready to be scooped up and hidden in pockets
so I went from room to room
looking, counting, but never taking –
because I was instructed never to touch
my grandparents’ things, coins included
and like an obedient Vietnamese granddaughter
I did what I was told


i am going to get rid of the first two stanzas, or else i will make them a separate poem from the last two. i think. we'll see.

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