Morning/Jakarta – Creative Fridays

Morning/Jakarta – Creative Fridays

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8141470478_3e21a4e95c_oIn her second addition to Creative Fridays, Clare Holloway provides the second part to the last of he previous weeks poems. A collection exploring a theme never more relevant than on this day…

 

Morning

 

You don’t wake.

You sink back

to softened walls

and mild light.

 

You never want to leave me less than

when your body is cupped around mine.

 

You bleat as I move,

hands weak, insistent,

tuck me back in

to your hot breath.

 

You would promise me anything

in the morning.

 

stock-footage-white-smoke-of-cigarette-in-super-slow-motion-against-black-backgroundJakarta

 

The sun is leaving without its heat;

sticky on my upper lip

as I suck a cigar,

thinking about your new wife

and what she might do tonight.

 

The smoke is thicker than

the air in Jakarta, smothers

the stars you’ll be gazing at soon,

holding hands with the girl in the photo

your mother sent me.

 

One of these cigar boxes is tight

With pictures of my first wife.

On the glossy paper she smiles.

Tonight she will be crying

into the cake and praying

you aren’t like me.

 

You used to laugh at my mustache,

did you ever grow your own?

Who taught you how to shave?

Did you get the girls, like me?

Did you keep them?

 

I could have made the flight.

Fifteen hours to shake your hand

and kiss your sweetheart.

We could have bridged the years.

 

I could have made the flight.

I could have eaten sugared almonds

instead of rice and chicken feet.

Were you scared to walk the aisle?

 

I could have made the flight.

We could have met the morning,

smoking and drinking (do you smoke? do you drink?)

I have wedding cufflinks to lend, slight wear.

 

I could have made the flight.

You didn’t ask me to.

 

Clare Holloway

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