in the morning 

I open the window 

just a crack 

so the sun slips in 

over my coffee 

I sip it slow 

and feel the heat

fill all holes 

inside me 
 

this isn’t what I imagined. 
 

the phone vibrating 

on my thigh 

red lipstick in stacks 

next to clumps of 

hair 

and bile 
 

all the fair weather 

daunting 

a temporary blue gift 

something for someone 

else 
 

I dreamt of the grand canyon 

last night 

and I cried into it 

I was restless and in awe

it was flat 

like Thales’ earth 

i won’t ever know it

I thought 
 

it’s an odd feeling 

when “in memoriam”

becomes delayed 

almost like 

should-be-dead-things

in the sunlight 

sipping coffee 

slowly 
 

this is the canyon 

I think..

either that

or peace at the 

brim. 
 

– sheila cordova