Morning at 50
is not unlike afternoon as a child,
a little tired and very hungry
from exertions imagined or real,
possibly an ache or two,
depending how brave we’re feeling.

The dawn air is heavy with a storm coming
and it’s quiet as I await my children,
just as I used to await my parents.
I don’t know why I’m awake so much.
I’m not that ambitious.
My dreams have always taken a lot
of my time and sleep is too passive,
so my body is often pushed by my mind
to do things in a disputed timeframe,
finding myself at odds with myself.
A woman and a child.


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