older

we lie almost-awake in bed, breathing slowly, waiting for dawn to come; then
dad’s arms cradle our heavy bundle of blankets and feigned sleep into the outside,
where crisp forgetful air clashing with our warmth meets us at the open door;
feeling the movement down the porch steps, across the grass, down into the car,
until at last the seatbelt closes around us and we are waiting for the road

the car begins to move, the shadows and the clouds play catch with our
finger pressed against the window–light fades up into the sky and the
freckles of street lights and bright windows start to be put out; we feel
the calm of an open day press against our spirit at five years old, the haze
of empty thoughts as the stars get swiftly pulled away from the dawn

______________________________________________

now, the morning pulls us along, magnetism that fills our minds at
first light with older thoughts, older worries that pull us from uneasy rising
into uncertain days; the sun rises and sets in a cycle that has worn down our
memory from its repetition, and if we venture to the road in the early morning light
we will have a place to be, with no more days of being an eternal passenger

we beg those early hours to come slower, give us time to open the windows
and breathe; don’t tempt us into constant motion–let us feel the hug of our
own cozy, robed silhouette – remember the dreams we used to whisper to the
clouds and the stars on those early mornings long ago? press five fingers to the
frigid glass and feel the ache-we can only take how much our busy hands will hold


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