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.