He makes chickpea crepes for breakfast,
fills them with sweet pears and ripe bananas.
My tea steeps in a rose china cup.
Through the window, a cardinal
startles from the lilac tree, swoops in for
morning seeds, jostles a raspberry finch,
a dominance of red to make space for his mate.
Somewhere, a child's voice, a school bus,
last days before summer's reprieve,
an early lunch. Blue jays sound a morning alarm
from the woodpile, chipmunks cherry-pick their
way through tousled greens. My finger scrolls,
presses for news under a smudge of butter.
Then all the starving children, listless bodies
covered in promises and lies, enter the kitchen,
lie limp on cold tile, beg me to turn off the sun.
Morning Alarm by Pamela Kenley-Meschino | Poetry Reed Diffuser
$15.00Price
Pamela Kenley-Meschino's poetry has appeared in various journals and anthologies, most recently in The New Verse News, The Stafford Challenge Anthology, Verse Virtual, and Literary Veganism. She teaches at a private university in New York, where she developed classes that explore the connection between writing and healing, and the importance of shared stories.
