AUBADE
Another quarantine morning hovers
over your bed to overtake the dark.
There must be fifty ways to leave these covers.
Sweep back the black-out curtains that shutter
your eyes, take a swipe at your alarm.
Another quarantine morning hovers,
spreads like birdsong, the clean scent of clover.
Nothing can stop the sun’s diurnal arc—
not even the fifty ways to leave these covers.
Your legs feel like peanut butter.
You can’t gather strength in your arms.
Another quarantine morning hovers.
No need to dress, don’t stress or over-
think, and devote the day to your art—
there must be fifty ways. To leave these covers,
stop thinking of bodies that won’t be recovered.
Make a wish on the morning star.
Another quarantine morning hovers.
There must be a way to leave these covers.
Nancy Naomi Carlson, is a clinical mental health counselor educator and twice an NEA translation grantee.
She also won the 2022 Oxford-Weidenfeld Translation Prize.
An Infusion of Violets (Seagull, 2019), her recent collection of non-translated poetry, was called “new & noteworthy” by The New York Times.