Morning came up
like a donut in the pot—turned over night
and it was golden.

Night had gone speeding past—
saying something urgently in an unintelligible language.
My mind and heart 

lay before me, unfolded, 
like laundry hung inside-out on the line
for cleaning by the sun—

they were the world, 
and everything in it: the coats hung and hoarding dust,
the bee still dying on the sill,

the neighbor’s luscious hostas,
the squirrel’s littered husks, the hospital helicopter 
the bridge construction

and the foghorn.
Waiting, I thought, for me to address them.
And then, the gracious coffee

took my fingertips, and whispered—
no, don’t say a word,
just come on, let’s go.

Bio: Nina Lindsay