By Sarah
Date: 5 November 1999

a.m.

if you could see me like this,
these mornings before i hit the shower
when my hair is greasy and left in patches by the night,
my face pale and dry, pimples glowing red
like lights on a squad car,
glasses that with this ensemble
look homely and not scholarly,
flannel pants marked with tears and paint spots-
their edges frayed and worn,
in a sweatshirt smelling of a dog
smelling of having gone too long without a bath
sitting on these cement steps
in this aluminum-sided, portable neighborhood
cuffs at my knuckles, crossed on my chest
protecting my nipples from the cold wind,
cigarette in hand,
matchbook tucked under my holey sock-
my breath a sour mix of last night's snack,
seven o'clock's coffee, and now this smoke.

no-you would not hold me and rock me,
sigh and say you missed me,
like you did yesterday
when i was shower-fresh,
all Maybellined over and Cover Girled up
and i don't blame you
i burned all of my feminist flags 
when they started blowing over my eyes
and i'm not really eager for your mornings, either
but that doesn't mean that i don't love you
and that doesn't mean that these mornings
aren't when i need you the most.