Operating Dixie Cups
two in the morning
is a space
where your
voice lingers through
the sounds of the heater’s
warm hum
and the dog’s rhythmic breathing.
The birds are asleep
at two in the morning
but the owl is awake
translating your words with
an eastern winter’s air
and the words make their way
beneath millions of stars
over thousands of dead leaves
around hundreds of naked trees
through the one small crack in
the black pane of
my only bedroom window
to land as an intact conversation on my ear.
Two in the morning is the round black record caught beneath
the needle moving only from the
beginning to the end and back
to the beginning
of the song that is the tone
of your voice lulling
my words back to you
a telegraph operated by children separated by one thin
string and two dixie cups.
J.Ann.
Hypnotic and evocative
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Thank you. Two in the morning can be like that!
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Indeed! Had started to write a similar “Its 2 in the morning” kind of poetry myself when I found your piece! Much better than mine.
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You should post your poem!
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