The Process of Healing
JORDAN CHARLTON

A beautiful morning approaches.
Not here, but
somewhere,
almost assuredly. Good
morning-- breathe, now
 
think for too long
about the girl you claimed
dibs on "getting over".
Do thoughts of her ever eat at you?
Certainly, but how?
 
Slowly, like trying to swallow
a hippopotamus blended milkshake,
topped with whipped cream,
and garnished with a cubed watermelon?
Or swiftly, like the wretched blades
 
manipulating the skin and flesh
of the hippopotamus.
Would you offer her a straw
to help finish the milkshake
 
sooner? As you drink is your tongue the conductor
of a small symphony as you swish the sad,
unsatisfying, flesh around your mouth?
 
You might lose sleep tonight
but all you need to know is:
The morning is beautiful.
The morning is beautiful.