LC Gutierrez

SHOOT ME IF I EVER WRITE AN AUBADE

The angels take your sleep fattened hands
lift the obsidian tinted curtain of your lids

raise your chin until you could pass
for a believer. In your slim portion

of this absurdist drama you awaken
giving praise for life’s small beauties

watch them grow great in the admiring.
At 5am you’re already yoga splayed into the morning’s

spreading yawn gathering a ball of night’s dead
calm to breast pocket you along.

Two over easy homemade granola
and a jaw poppin shot of Cuban coffee.

Your surefire way to check you’re still alive
are the heartroot veins in your forearms

and your time furrowed brow. You pulsing
Popeye of the morning. No idea where

this thing might go. Still you thump the table
and claim it. God will be good for you today!