Uninvited

By five the stomach had done what it does

and I was flat on my back, just there.

The curtain going gray, the dark retreating,

nothing to do but breathe the stale air.

Then the birds. All of them, suddenly,

like someone gave the signal, like a cue.

One call that came back on itself,

and came back, and came back, and came back too.

I want to be clear: I was not the point.

The morning happened without asking me.

The light went on. The noise went on.

The birds did not need company.

There's something about lying there

while everything outside performs —

the relentless going-on, the cheerful noise,

the world and all its norms.

My stomach said: you're still here.

The birds said: so?