David Rodriguez September 2024
The madness of each morning
chiming nothing, baubles swaying, porch post
titanium,
cats and catbirds grousing, pills on the counter, light
routines
stilled by helicopter throppings, disconnection, leaves
stripping.
Fall arrives. On our anniversary,
what the doctor said doesn’t come, and we don’t acknowledge
it.
You’re upright as the chimes dance, so we do too; eat milk and
pills,
feel our titanium hips grouse. Sway, slow, and still. I’m an
arm:
snake-dry, laundry-loose, gravel
and groove…you’re the other, excited fingers, heartbeat
thropping,
ready for an old routine. Start with wine you like, recover
one
kiss, say a prayer against madness: to hold your precious
cheek,
to see: there’s a laugh. There’s a laugh.
David Rodriguez is a writer and teacher based in New Orleans with an MFA from Florida State University. He has previously been published in the New Orleans Review, The Southeast Review, The Sandy River Review, Hawai'i Review, and Jarfly, among other places.
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