Gray {a haibun}

Weekday mornings are cold. I need to trick myself into exposing skin to air. I am  mindful. Every inch of me is aware. Warm. Quiet. Still.

Behind the closed blinds, there is gray light. I tell myself it’s good to be comfortable. I allow myself to be absorbed. I can close my eyes. But when the gray light brightens, it’s over. That’s the time the cats want their breakfast. Life calls.

The kitchen is in shadow and the floor is cool. I stoop to open the cupboard beneath the window. The cats run in to the farthest corner of the dark cupboard as I scoop the food. I fill a mug of water for my coffee. I leave the cupboard door open so they can run out. Cat noses are soon buried in bowls. And while I wait for my water to heat I water the basil plant. Every day I turn it just a little so that all the leaves have a chance to face the sun.

I almost stumble–
two beggar cats underfoot,
a good gray morning

{It took me a few days to find the right moment to write about this topic. I have mixed feelings about mornings lately. This haibun is for the Good Morning! dVerse prompt.}

Soft

Must morning devour me,
subdued in my bed, inarticulate,
after God’s sunrise voice
makes my murmured longing
soft, not vast?

My voice sinking soft
like powdered sugar on hot dough,
melting.

Must evening eat
my soft mind too, when
God’s sunset voice declares it?

{the dVerse prompt which inspired this quadrille is the word murmur}

Smile

Some small creatures, like moths,
are born the color of bark or dead leaves,
so they can eat or avoid being eaten.
How honest is that?

It’s no different
than the way a strategically placed mirror
can make a room seem bigger.
Or how deception and survival align
when I must smile and say I’m fine.

{the dVerse prompt which inspired this poem is the word mirror}