Good Morning

I wake up tired.

Grab my bike from the back yard.

I have a back yard.

Blow kisses at the tree.

I have a tree.

Don’t shower.

Finish the piece due this morning.

Turn it in.

Pack breakfast.

Oatmeal, almonds,

tapioca pearls for bubble tea,


Sit by the yellow flowers on the trunk.

There is an old black trunk filled with blankets

in the living room.

Bookshelves floor to ceiling.

I don’t live in the country.

I live in the city where the apartments

rise high,

and the cabs crunch together,

and out of my bedroom window

is a garden.

There are cerulean plates and a basin

above the cabinets in the kitchen.

Take a moment to write this.

It is a memory of time

sweeter than I deserve.

I’m late now.

So this memo is over.

I’m taking my bike from the living room,

past the Matisse in the hallway.

I’m closing the door on my way out.

Headed for work.



About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry, Summer. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Good Morning

  1. Zachary says:

    Really, really like this entry.

  2. Miriam Dumlao says:

    Why would you pack tapioca balls for lunch?

  3. makes me laugh to think if William Carlos Williams had been a hipster – would he have written about bubble tea. yeah, something like that. nice read.

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