Another morning. A poem by B F Jones

I wake up at night
When the clock strikes four
And I know
That sleep won’t come
I wait
I long
I think
And then I rise
I make coffee
And spy the sun
Steam rises from my cup
Hot liquid flows
Down my throat
Dried by sorrow
Warm porcelain burns
My cold fingers
Cracked by soap
Curled by fear
And anger
It’s another
Yet another


B F Jones is French and has stories published in various online magazines. Her debut collection will be out at the end of April 2020. Follow her on twitter.

1 Comment

  1. Excellent poem!

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