By Morgan Neering
Pretty pink peonies
on the table in a vase
it’s the first real warm day all year
around four pm, the third of May
and I think
of the way
my friend’s smoking is destroying her
while I put a pot of coffee on.
Serve it in a small cup so it feels like more and
I heard you say the other day
that the world is ending soon
while the bomb alert went off
as it does
at the start of every month
and it’s true, I think
the world might have fallen to shit
and that I might go home to Carolina
read my poetry to the birds.
And I think of the moon
all alone in the sky tonight and
why am I so upset today when nothing changed at all
I try imagining myself in the countryside somewhere
swaying with the flowers
green grass dancing
in the wind but that’s
just a dream and
I’m here with you now
and I return to you more sad than before.
Born and raised in small town USA- Morgan is an American writer and poet living in France. She is currently working on her debut photo-poetry collection, focusing on the exploration of nostalgia and self-discovery.
