Impossibility of Morning

Shards of light cut around the edges of blinds
puncture the bubble of sleep, my eyes
resist opening, consciousness absent
from body, lying corpse-like
under a mound of blankets –
the furnace failing in the night.

Incessant chirping accosts my ears
not yet ready to respond to birdsong,
brain encased in a cement-block fog,
the mournful coos of a dove more fitting
for this somnambulist state.

Mouth, cotton dry, dreams of that first
honey-sweet sip of hot tea, smells coffee
brewing, the warm, encouraging aroma
of toast, weakly considers the possibility
of moving, but body still bears the weight
of death – refusing to respond.

Minutes will stretch to hours –
these mornings when illness wrestles
me into submission, the harshness
of its reality wrapping me mummy-like,
imprisoned in immobility – sentenced
without crime, trial or jury.


(Today’s prompt challenges us to use all the senses.)


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

13 thoughts on “Impossibility of Morning”

      1. lol. I know that one! My daughter and 4 kids and husband moved to Nanaimo from Port Hardy. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being involved in their lives so my son and I moved too. It works well.

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      2. It’s lush and beautiful here and why we’re fighting the proposed pipeline. It could potentially destroy our habitat our wildlife our home. ppl from New York come through and used to tell me, you don’t know how lucky you are. Um, yes, yes I do lol.

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