The tiptoe hours

There are some wise people

who wake in the dark

and watch the world dawn outside their windows

I am not one of these people.

Most days I greet the morning in the face of a

6-year-old above me

in a room bright for sleepy eyes

by a tap, tap, tap

and a Mama… are you awake…

Then the day takes my hand and pulls me

up, up, up

like a rag doll

Through diaper changing

and the assembly line

of peanut butter toast with honey.

A toddler parked in the curve of my hip

a warm mug cradled in the palm of my hand.

But today —

I sit

like the wise ones.

In a house as still as the country night.

Nobody awake, but myself

and the tick, tick, tick

of the wall clock

and the drip, drip, drip

of the coffee maker

and the faint purring

of an oversized

house cat.

Not even the sun

has peeked her head above covers.

And isn’t it peculiar —

How something as small as rising before the sun

does something a bit magical.

For in these tiptoe hours, I feel

light on my feet.

I am now the conductor

(rather than the caboose).

And I dance around the house

in a hush in no hurry

feeling like a fine hostess

prepared to welcome the dawn.

Oh, hello there, my wonderful friend —

There you are — Come in, come in

I have been waiting for you.

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5 Comments

  1. If you put all of your poetry in a book, I would buy it and keep it by my bed with my very favorite treasures that give me comfort just seeing them in their neat little stack a foot from my head. Just sayin’.

    You have a gift. This was beautiful. :)

  2. Yes, I’ve so been on both sides of this coin. In fact you could have plucked this from my own tired brain (but it wouldn’t have sounded half as nice). Love it!

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