Morning Train by Bridget Ashvil


The tip of my nose is cold at 6:52,
When the sky looks like new
With streaks of warm chocolate and the smell of greys papaya playing a pretty song in between my scarf and button down. 
You like when I dance and sing but I do so that I can call to the fire
The smoke that fills the lungs of the young and hungry when there is no one weak left to feed on but yourself. 
Burn all the sugar so that the air smells like cotton candy from the nuts for nuts carts rolled by a little lady who likes to paint mangos and mongeese
Like the ones from when the boys called her sally sally baby and she beat them in every race
The mangos that spilled nectar as sweet as the smiles of a baby, 
Down her neck and down her arms,
Drenching her clothes and burning her skin with a fire that does not give off any smoke
She had learned how to be quiet about her dreams
Shutting her eyes for three blinks worth time
Bu bu bu
Step into the running water to wash away the fire and burns that pull and pull to
The bye bye day where you can feel the drum in your toes and dance again. 
Please don't leave me
Here it is dark and shadows like to dance like curtains in the wind
Funny hunny bunny don't you worry it's all right it's aaaallll riiiiaaaght sing sing the drums gettin louder gettin faster
Leave me be leave me to smash in the walls and throw the yellow paint I got from you all over the ceiling so that it drips down beautiful yellow tears. 
My head fills with so much noise
Mr blue sky and Deborah could not stop my crying and yelling all locked in my jaw that you have locked so that I swell with all of my distress
You brute you have no mercy on the weak and even less on the strong and most on the ones that have never know what strength is. 
7:16 now
Two stops away, oh how the time has passed me by so soon. 
Might as well be the afternoon or even better the evening where cheeks get warm and pink and I get soft kisses on my face and laughter arises from almost nothing. 
Siblings embrace and compete for time to speak and cry and sit the three of them on a bed much too small and creaky. 
A sea of red and gold and out of the lava a small bag of coffee and sweaters that is sandwiched between the eyes that all match. 
Chocolate red skies and birds
With small beady eyes. 
6:52 once again
You won't be happy unless you have got a friend
And a few colored pencils to pass the time.