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sundays

By Rachel Tanner

sunday mornings we wake and you 
stretch limbs over me protectively,
kiss my forehead, breathe my own name
back into my mouth. we’ve been doing this
for months now and it never gets old. i
will never tire of lying tired beside you,
scrolling our phones and discussing 
the news of the day. what happened
overnight? there was a fire, a shooting,
a pandemic that just won’t be kept out
by our boarded up doors, by our masks
with cute designs. the world isn’t
a safe place.

but then i look at you and you center me,
pull me away from my midnights
and into your sunrises. god, i want

this forever.

Rachel Tanner is an Alabamian writer with regular columns in Videodame and Theta Wave. She tweets @rickit.

Categories

Poetry, The River

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