Tuesday poem #576 : Maya Clubine : Morning After Solstice

 

 

 

This morning I woke late, and rising, fell
into impatience with the birds, too loud
for tired thoughts to strengthen or to dwell
on gifts with which my dreaming was endowed.
How'd I spend my extended yesterday?
My wisdom was not lengthened. I was proud
just as before. The annual display
of elongated light and warmth and time
left me somewhat unchanged. I did not pray.
The day and I rode unperturbed by rhyme
or reason. Now, the season spins around
and leaves me here to fall back to the crime
of living unaware, where dreams surround
vague dawns and birds go by without a sound.

 

 

 

Maya Clubine is a writer and artist from the Canadian East Coast. Her chapbook Life Cycle of a Mayfly (Vallum Chapbook Series) won the 2023 Vallum Chapbook Prize. She is an MFA candidate at the University of St. Thomas (TX) where she received a Scanlan Fellowship. Maya has published in Rattle, The Literary Review of Canada, Modern Age, and Ekstasis, among others. She is a member of the Common Milkweed Collective. She can be found at mayaclubine.ca.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan