Slow To Rise Poem by Brian Sonberg

She rose late,
The memories of last night,
Vivid;
Still too difficult to face.

Her normal countenance
Usually so bright
Was a barely masked palette
Of bruised quilt work.

The sky stood
A muddled contrast
Of gray on different shades of gray
And we stayed indoors

Behind her smile,
There is pain.
It matches the morning's simplicity;
Muted, with subtle rain.

We dream of romance,
Of spies and interrogation.
Shield us from a bleaker truth,
Of blackouts in alleyways