A Morning Poem

by Joanna Gilman Hyde

Instead of waking

to my former husband’s kissable head

I looked to a sky of gold and pink

and to the spruce of our first snow

this winter, and I reached

for my phone

to review the end

of Self Organizing Galaxy —

my painting of blue and purple

yellow and red

I watched my face

of 23 years

then got out of bed

to wash it now

and brush my hair —

my cat wants to be fed