Sam Preminger: An Aubade Is an Awful Ocean

Sam Preminger: An Aubade Is an Awful Ocean
Adrian via Unsplash

Adrian via Unsplash

an aubade is an awful ocean

 

an hour before work

 

I start from a dream

 

searching for someone in the sheets;

 

not the sort of person

 

who’s embarrassed by a swing set,

 

not a large blue butterfly so

 

terribly difficult to love up close.

 

I keep pretending she’s in the hallway,

 

 

dreamcatchers diminishing

 

the morning to a hum; vibrations

 

of wood on her naked feet.

 

outside, it wasn’t quiet, but polite

 

only, it never happens like that.

 

 

In which she describes the ocean to a blind man
 

 

a voice from the 50’s / deserving

cold / an august morning after

january night / heavy song / fraying rope / the storm

a whole town remembers / hands

on old iron / what you

left behind / drowning, only imagine it

painless /a foreign country / a foreign

war / our grandfathers, every one, their terrible

mass / repetition and wrath / one cold sip

of water gone down the wrong pipe

 

A wider window


Ryan is only eight years old, standing in the hallway of a hospital. Ryan’s baby sister has just been born and, as he looks through the nursery window, he realizes he doesn’t know which of the infants is her. To be safe, he decides he will love them all and, as he decides this, he wonders if he can.

 

Editor's Note: This article has been republished from our new site. 


Sam Preminger is a New York native with restless and wandering feet. Previously his meanderings have led him through deserts, jungles, cities, and seas, and soon he means to make an extended expedition west. His poetry and short stories can be found in Gandy Dancer, The Blue Route, and Neon Magazine as well as on his author’s site [hiswistfulthinking]. He enjoys oversleeping, late night curries, and moth-watching.