Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff




I dreamed my bed was already made. Yet, I woke swaddled like an infant, Before the skies blossomed blue, and the sun kissed this forehead.

I woke, to the humming of a fan, and  let out a small whimper as I stretched  like a worm being pulled from the earth. I too, have felt that pinch.

I woke, knowing, these pillows don’t carry your scent anymore. And I can’t recall the sound of your snore. I’ve washed the linen, and busied my mind with chores and living.

I dreamed my bed was already made,  and as I drove, the clover stood tall and leaned towards me as if to wave me on. I wonder if they ever  grieve? Or fall in love, only to be left to bleed.

Joelly Poetry 2018

Hundred Ways


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