I want to be a daughter of the morning.
One who rises easily, fresh and alert
Waiting for the sun to say, “Come, meet the day.”
I admire the soft sunlight that bathes the still streets outside my window
And long to savor this moment to sit and gaze and create.
But poetry halts as I realize that I did not wake quite early enough today. Cue cartoon sound effect of creative gears screeching to a halt. There are two little boys plodding down the stairs. The news of the morning is Louie’s bloody nose. His sheets and pillow will need to be washed and his little nose is crusted over with a smudge of reddish brown.
Sigh. I will just finish this blog post after…
I wash blueberries out of the bunny Pez dispenser (Because mom says no more candy today)…or after-
I wipe yellow dye off the senile dog’s back (Otis bumped in to me while I was blowing my Crayola colored bubbles.)…or after-
The clock strikes 10:00 p.m. and I finally plop down and stare out my windows at the still street bathed in darkness. There is no promise of day awaiting, but the anticipation of rest is sweet too. I still cannot seem to lasso the morning for my muse, but the process is still fulfilling.