Morning Poem by Cherie Mort

A feather drifts softly, drowsily downward
I blow at it, and that puff of air sends it shooting back up
I am lying down, my limbs slowly, tiredly moving around
I feel like I am trapped underwater, unable to move quickly
It's nice, though,
The deep end is heavy but serene
I can't move, but I'm not struggling, either
I'm just stuck in a world that rotates too slowly for me to care
Finally, I decide that I've been stuck here long enough
I press my palms against the sandy surface at the bottom of the pool, feeling my body float upwards
Fatigue washes over me, off me, around me, wanting to tug me back down to the dark depths where I was so comfortable
But I must move ahead, or risk being stuck here forever
Slowly, I get up and stretch, cold air quickly surrounding me as I surface
I yawn and slip out of bed, my legs wobbly from laying down so long
Something white catches the corner of my eye; a feather atop my nose
Gently, I try to blow its downy leaves off me, but it stays stuck, fluttering gently on my nose
I peel off the feather; it is wet, as though it were just floating in the depths of a pool of dark, warm water