Its World Poetry Day today. Here is one from my forthcoming collection Broken Down House
The way she shakes so,
is inductive of her age.
But in the morning she is still.
Then her body unwinds,
and springs into action.
She wakes before me,
then wakes me with her soft gurgling.
And the force of water against stainless steel.
And the pad of her feet past my bedroom door.
I think of the contrivance Gilbert O’Sullivan made,
when he sang a love song –
only to reveal its subject was a child.
I choose no sucker punch.
The gurgling is the sound her throat makes,
when she wakes.
And the pad.
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