Mourning Person

By Garrett Souliere

One of my one-too-many alarms
Frustrates me for its function.

For far too long I linger
Before forcing my limbs to breakfast. 

Striated blue-white burlap
Dinner mats. Hanging potted plant

Sips dirt and spills soil around
An air vent island in the carpet.

I am surrounded by my home,
Who knew I would be back.

Forgotten memories really
Are very rarely that latent.

I stand in the space of ghosts.
A whisper tells me listless secrets

Stuck to me scribbled between
Knuckles imprinted by popcorn ceiling;

I think back, to star-bound arms
Palms pressed up, flat of feeling.

Garrett Souliere writes, paints, bakes, and lives in Richmond, VA with his four furry children. His writing has appeared in Bourgeon, Trash to Treasure Lit, and Narrow Magazine, and he won 1st place in Poetry in ECU's Rebel 55 Magazine. Garrett founded and operates Quibble, an online literary review engaging audiences with emerging writers. Find more at quibblelit.com.