Morning

By Fran Matos

The skeleton in my neighbor's front yard
holds a sign that reads “come closer for a spell”
but I’m not looking for signs anymore.

One night, in the summer,
I biked around the neighborhood
searching for the special moon
everyone seemed to know about.

Another night I biked slowly
while Rami rollerbladed next to me.

There’s a sadness I can’t change
and a sadness I can’t change.

It has to do with people and these dogs I’ve come to know.

I keep finding my bedroom light on.

I keep feeling that I am preparing
for something like death, but not really.

Lev always gets annoyed at Frida
for saying his shivering greyhound is cold.
I greet them by the door every morning and think,

this is coming with me when it happens.

Fran is a writer from Lisbon. She holds an MFA in Poetry from Sarah Lawrence College, where she was a Jane Cooper fellow.

When It Comes Down to It