Poetry by Cecil Morris
Because I did not want to, because
the pillow top mattress and your warmth
beside me both said stay, because clouds
from yesterday obscured both moon
and sun and sounded gray alarm bells
and tripped the fire doors, because the birds
in feathered wisdom sang lullabies
to duties, granted worms amnesty,
invited them to pass free and slow
from dirt to dirt, because the chorus
of crickets camping in back and hips
refused all requests for hula moves
and air thickened itself against scent
of coffee and bacon and right there
in the best yoga pose, the corpse pose,
I re-ran scenes of our children’s joy,
the slides and swings at the park, the leaps
into the pool, the splashing and screams,
the puddle-jumping and river trips,
the airfoil kites nearly lifting them
from beach sand, their slimy-handed glee
at disemboweling pumpkins, because
I could in those moments feel each child
in his or her turn squeezed close to me
and captured by my reading voice,
giving them a book’s magic, because,
such early morning reveries beat
out every possible to-do list.
Cecil Morris is a retired high school English teacher, sometime photographer, and casual walker. His first collection, At Work in the Garden of Possibilities, came out from Main Street Rag in 2025. He has poems in The 2River View, Common Ground Review, Rust + Moth, Talking River Review, and elsewhere.
