STILL LIFE IN EARLY BRIGHTNESS
Lauren Fulton
On a morning I wake without fear,
with no alarm, you are beside me
my arm pinned under your body,
tingling with delight at forgetting
which of our forms it belongs to.
My smile opens before my eyes
and I find you, already watching.
Caught, you laughingly lie and swear
you were only sleep blinking, claim
irises need fresh air, even when resting.
You close them again and pretend
to snore and I, awake, adore you.
Outside windows covered in lustful
haste is a tsunami of worry
breaking cliffs below us. But in this economy
we are creating, the only capital
is our Love, our Names in abundance,
and none of this bounty is wasted.
Ours is a climate of cool sheets and skin
humidity and the winds of breath on faces.
Everything is renewable and renews us
daily and elsewhere alarms are sounding
but here we wake without fear
and only our bodies are buzzing.
Lauren Fulton is a queer, single parent and writer of poetry, fiction and essays. Born and raised in Florida, she now lives in Portland, Oregon. She was a finalist for the Ruminate poetry prize and her work has been featured there, in corporeal lit, Blue Cactus Press, Ghost City, INKSOUNDS, and elsewhere. She has been a featured reader for Oregon’s Literary Arts, and she is a contributing member of the Rebel on Page poetry collective.