But still, there's a tiny silence for poetry.
This morning's prompt was to write an aubade. After a bit of thought, I wanted to write a goddess aubade about getting up and recreating the world through a routine. This poems needs more magic, more mightiness. I want to show the magic in the mundane. I want this poem to parallel different creation myths, but on this busy Monday morning, I haven't the time to do the research. I'm leaving this note in hopes that I'll remember to come back and rework this little free write.
The Goddess on a Monday Morning
Let there be light, and there was,
She flipped the switch, alit
Their bedroom into being, colored
Everything the night obscured.
She rises from the bed, shakes sleep
From her hair, brushes the sour taste
Of lifelessness from her teeth.
Her bare feet meet the tile,
Creating a music of morning
As she ambles to the kitchen,
flipping every light switch
turning everything aglow
with morning. She makes the kettle
whistle, creates the smell of coffee,
of life, with pouring water,
undoes the mess of last night’s dinner,
washes everything clean –
the grease, the lingering smell
of must, the crispy bits of mistakes
left at the bottom of the pan.
She pours sunshine into bowls,
sets life onto the table, clanks spoons.
The toast pops up. The coffee moans.
Then she awakens everyone
With her voice, a yell that echoes
Through the hallway, brings the world
Back into being. Breakfast!