How she wakes up
By D.S. Moalalai
cold cuts
like dry wire. morning;
a cold water sponge.
and around the ocean
the coast road
hangs like a necklace,
studded with pearls
and the headlights of cars,
the lights coming on
in the second floors
of houses.
morning; the city
the blue
of nighttime dresses
piled in the corner
and stepped on
by empty shoes. the sea out,
the sand wracked, dry
and spotting with broken
beer bottles.
skin; a woman's skin. tired
getting up in the morning
with last night's make-up
cracking at the eyes like eggs
being broke in the kitchen
on the side of a cast
iron frying pan.