Morning is a Sword
Slicing through roots of adages, the days are shorter & I count them. Lucky to be storm-chasing near the Pacific, eating fresh radishes. The farmer I once was can’t see the pirate I’ve become, darkness behind eyelids tied together by lashes in salty knots. Sharpened, this inglorious morning sprains into existence like the frayed hem on jeans turned into shorts or the Persian rug with pet stains or the fringes of day as it begins & always ends. Do I pull her stockings off the shower rack? They’re dry now, never wet. The ocean approaches like a sneeze. I fold napkins into weapons. Jim Davis This poem was written for the 20 Poem Challenge. JIM DAVIS is a student of Human Development and Psychology at Harvard University and has previously studied at Northwestern University and Knox College. He reads for TriQuarterly and his work has appeared in Bellevue Literary Review, The Harvard Crimson, Portland Review, Midwest Quarterly, and California Journal of Poetics, among others. In addition to writing and painting, Jim is an international semi-professional American football player. @JimDavisArt
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September 2024
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