Grey Matter

By Karly O’Loughlin

Early morning finds pale light peeking through the kitchen window

The wind whispers through the leaves on the tree by the front door

A coffee cup turning cold by the sink

Bathroom floorboards creak with the gentle weight of her bare feet

Dusty secrets are swept into the corner by the toilet

She leans into the broom, letting it press into the crook of her arm

A heave escaping the lungs

The abdomen recalls a memory

Muscles contract and swallow; the process of elimination on repeat

Digestion held hostage by density and grey matter

She blinks and recovers herself, wiping a tear against her palm

Carry on, dear one

The dust will find its way out of your heart in fragments

Vibrancy demands cultivation