Vanessa Napolitano
In early morning the motel room is purple droop,
as if we are renting a bruise.
Sunrise is a livid blush, mauve of a trapped limb,
corners of the room like the underside of an eye,
my skin outside the sheets reflecting, parma violet chalky sky
and the carpet, all heather and gorse,
smelling like soap tastes.
It stretches in density, coughdrop to licorice.
You suggest getting breakfast,
clothes like a rude interruption.
Vanessa Napolitano is a Yorkshire-based writer and Word Up North New Northern Poet. Her pamphlets Various Magics and Birds & Bruises were published last year. Work can be found or is forthcoming in Stanchion, Poetry Wales, Humana Obscura, and Interpreter’s House. Her next book is due out with Stanchion Press in 2026
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