Cameron Morse – Two Poems



Water, one winter
morning, awakens. Dew
glistens on fallen
leaves. A breeze lays her damp
washcloth across my
forehead. I’m still in the fever of
my boyhood, sweating out
cinematic nightmares
below the comforter, the ceiling
full of green stars.
It was always too much to bear,
being born into this world,
into the chalk-smeared
cloud and birdsong chirrup,
chirrup, cheer. I kick the chain link
fence and Moby appears,
puttering over. He blinks his black
eyes in the clean Sunday
morning sun, a stalk of haybale
bedding in the shag of his
white winter coat.


My shoes have come untied.
I depend on you to tie them.
The dog ran away, slipping

through the small wooden
door I opened. I shouted out
his name, a blond streak

in the grass. Now my own
name eludes me. I know
only that my toes are cold.



Cameron Morse taught and studied in China. Diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2014, he is currently an MFA candidate at UMKC and lives with his wife, Lili, in Blue Springs, Missouri. His poems have been or will be published in 32 different magazines, including Otis Nebula, The Blackstone Review and TYPO.