Bio Note: I am a poet and songwriter living in Oakland, California with my wife and son. I'm mesmerized by the natural beauty of the western states, and almost died in the Grand Canyon because I kept going down, forgetting that I also had to come back up. Evening used to be my time of magic and art, but now morning is when it all happens. I have published previously in The Blue Nib, The Pacific Review, Better Than Starbucks, and other journals.
Too Early To Say
Writing coffee on an empty stomach is like reading tobacco leaves without a match the clock dripping olive oil on the kitchen floor the greasy puddle I stepped in while staggering around to feed the barking dog the brain balanced on the knobby stick deciding not to take the body back to bed but instead to float here pawing back the curtains on another day
This morning I awoke to a view of smoke, black and rolling, from our living room window, hard to tell if two blocks away or two miles, should I wake my wife and son, grab the photographs, insurance policies, leash the dogs, hose the roof, run through quiet streets shouting "Fire!" till we reach the water's edge and wake from nightmare into a blue dream of light, horizon, pelicans, and no wind.
©2020 Scott Waters
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