He whispered
in my ear
as I was sleeping,
“Tomorrow is already
in its sunrise somewhere.
You’re dreaming through
a thousand hellos while
yesterday still sits on
your eyelashes.”
I wish I could have heard it.
He’s always a poet when
there’s gin on the table.
Last night I was too tired
to wait until the bottle
was empty to hear a kind word.
In the morning quiet of alone
I found his journal, the back of
a grocery receipt, sitting next
to the coffee pot.
Somewhere in the fiction
there’s truth…Maybe someday
he’ll speak words to me,
and not be Keats straining
poems through a shot glass.
©Susie Clevenger 2025
I just followed my muse.
A phrase here or there will
lead me to a poem.
Wow, Susie, this poem was a TRIP. I wish my brain would lead me on such a journey but I fear those days are past. This poem is a wonder.
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