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i like to wake with intention, but sometimes i wake up with a headache

Once I awoke
+++++to dishes in the sink
and took
+++++each soggy-crusted rim,
dropped them on the floor
+++++to see if they would crack. A few
passed the test, while thin shards
+++++of a distant past
gathered like witnesses at my feet.

An old-school revival
+++++preaching revelation’s dragons,
last night’s blue air,
+++++the cover of darkness.
All around, the filaments of bulbs
+++++flicker the glow that draws the host
of winged creatures to dusty secrets.

“Holy holy holy” their wingbeats
+++++on mottled glass++proclaim.
Moved by the spirit
+++++of the broom, porcelain shards
respond in “Amen” clinks,
+++++and “Amen” to close
the broken pasts, all these
+++++humans. houses.
brooms. never. enough.++room.

Someone++is next door
+++++with a bad past—like all of us—
unscrewing all
+++++the lightbulbs.
Tomorrow, he will announce
+++++his power is out; in the dark,
flicking blue light stations
+++++on that flat screen
pinned to too-thin drywall peeling
+++++slowly. I will sit in the dark,
my head++replaced
by dragons from my closet.

Elaine Hill is a writer, mother of two small children, and local vagabond in the Charlotte, NC, area. She has a penchant for answering rhetorical questions and likes talking to people over five feet tall.