Mornings Without Matches Poem by Angel Neri

There are mornings when you wake up knowing something's left and
Sinking, diving deep, cold, breathing bad burnt coal,
something else moved in.

There are mornings when the right trains
stop at the wrong stations.
Mornings when the ocean waves.
mornings when pedestrians walk away
dragging their shadows—
when the sun walks off to an afternoon without you

Mornings and tired hands.
no energy to chase
the waves that don't
come back:
Mornings like John Cusack.

Old receipts and
tweets about the waves that put the fire out
And then left

Mornings without matches