3 different bird calls &  a car alarm 

pours a bag of feathers
all over me
the sun & the whole thrum
awake without me
i turn over like a sausage 
in a skillet, 
like the ones mom made
every morning
a browning edge &
grease softly folding
alive under skin
the spatter & crackle of heat 
i ask the brightness 
to keep on going out there
to reflect off hoods of cars
to kick up dirt 
& scoop the voices 
of the birds nesting in the garage
make lives out of them
send the birds to college
& miss them when they move away
i am a red glow & i thought
for a moment i was waking up
in my parents big queen sized bed
with the black ceiling fan overhead,
a spider to twirl 
they had a painting of two rock fish
on the wall above them 
i looked to see if it was there 
& there is someone awake
in the ceiling
maybe just a pair of feet
maybe there's only upstairs
& no sky
just white drywall 
& flickers of dreams
where we were in disney world
i think only
you all had forgotten 
each other
besides me
i remembered &
i tried to remind each 
family member 
of sometime we were up 
too early together
there are so few people
who see us wake up
what do i lose when 
someone sees me, if they
watch me decide when to 
pull myself up?
this might be why lovers 
have to share beds
to watch the other emerge
from a warm murk
blink & shut eyes 
the bag of feathers poured
over head
the rolling of bodies 
in a skillet
the whole family 
all turkey sausage links
i'm full of grease today
i ask the birds to come in
& sit with me