Sunday Morning Poem
Sun rays like stripes cross through the blinds on the red wood floor,
the coffee maker gurgles and puffs. I walk outside to get the Post.
Bending over to pick up the paper gets harder each day. I breathe deep
the weather, hold it in my lungs, go back inside. The boys are still sleeping
in their rooms, they're home this weekend. You sleep too, wrapped
in blankets and hugging pillows, peaceful as outer space,
and as far away. I like the warmth of this circle. I think I'll sit
with the paper a bit and put a little extra sugar in my coffee.
David Colodney studies poetry in the MFA program at Converse College, and serves as Poetry Editor of the South85 literary magazine. He holds a Master's degree from Nova Southeastern University, and has written for The Miami Herald and The Tampa Tribune. David has recently been nominated for Best New Poets 2015, and his poetry has appeared in Shot Glass Journal, Night Owl, Egg, and in the New York School and Diaspora issue of Valley Voices. David lives in Boynton Beach, Florida with his wife, three sons, and golden retriever.