Holding your heart to my ear
I slept, and dreamed of swimming in a sea
Salted by sixteen million unnamed living colors.
I reveled in the refracted sunlight, in the
Pleasant, muted low roll of waves.
You’d think sound has no weight
But it does, on the second hand of a clock
Ticking its way to rude, real daylight.
The snooze button is set for a bit more
Time to float around inside my head, enough
Time to surface gently, to slide my heart
From the crook of your arms carefully back
Into its own breast pocket, and my self
Back behind my eyes.
All the sounds of traffic have been
Singing a raucous welcome a while now.
From the mosquito to the barking dog, to the
Frying bacon sputtering in fat, to the neighbor
Sweeping her yard, happily singing off-key,
To the mobile phones of the world. It is Saturday.
There’s the pied piper bell of the ice cream man,
And children running, running.
Outside, our butter sun is coaxing leafy
Transformations. My morning voice loses its croak.
You pluck my smile to stir into your cup
Full of the liquid blackness between stars.
The repeated peals of silver against porcelain
Have a satisfying rhythm. You swallow love whole,
Your Adam’s apple bobbing in approval.
Copyright 2009 Mona Caccam
(for TDM, after reading Margaret Atwood)
Personal Geographic 