Morning Light -

I spend nights drifting off

in a beat up taxi, barrelling towards the traffic signal,

meant to yield, meant to brake, as fog lamps beam

on hazard signs that scream for hesitation.

I wake up kissed by sunshine, and the bedside candles flicker

as I peel off children’s band-aids to reveal freshly healed skin.

Sometimes my brain is trapped in amber, trying to take in new thoughts

and in the next moment, my mind is spilling like egg yolk

onto a plate made of discolored glass.

Cigarette stained teeth clench while lemon juice hits an open wound,

only for sugar and water to be added to the mix, making the puss which oozes out

seem sweeter as it settles into the cracks of callouses.

I am a canary. I am a cobra.

I am the moon at midnight, and I am a new day’s morning light.