Sunday Morning Song
The house is alive
while I sleep.
I wake to new dirty dishes
piled in the sink.
I tread lightly
through the early morning
to keep the house asleep.
I think with my fingers
tapping on a tiny keyboard,
scrunch my face
at all the backspacing.
A robin sings
out my window
and I’m content
to hear it
alone.
***
It’s not Friday, but this morning when I was thinking about writing and first drafts I was sad to realize I have not written any new poems since January. I’ve been journaling a lot and mostly working on revisions for school but no new poems have emerged. So I wrote a poem today, to try and make myself feel better.
ShySpark 