From bed to the cat bowl

Through my bedroom window
the dawn sings, tones of grey,
with sweet notes of dusty pink
 
a rooster singing solo
reminds me it is morning,
 
I catapult out of bed,
Still tangled in broken, messy dreams
I wander through an unfinished house,
Boxes full of  yesterdays
Propelled through memories,
Scattered through a living room
I haven’t learned to live in
 
My grandmother’s red, velvet chair
The whiskey, the talk,
Slim Dusty’s music,
still echo in its softness,
Almost like a ghost,
 
Becoming unwound
By the sounds of a clock ticking
 
I am distracted
By The cat
running the gauntlet
through my shaky legs
 
A stolen glance
At the coffee machine
Fills me with hope
 
Smells of dead fish,
break my glorious revelry
But disgust disperses
As I realise
We are each in our own way
just trying to get somewhere.

Bridget is an Emerging poet who participated in Red Room Poetry's MAD Poetry workshops in 2020