Between Bruises and Blooms

The house is finally quiet.

Not silent—

there are still tiny breaths
through baby monitors,
a cat chasing ghosts
down the hallway,
the hum of the refrigerator
keeping me company.

But the day
has loosened its grip.

The dishes can wait.

The laundry
has already accepted
it won’t win tonight.

I pack the bowl.

The first pull
isn’t about escaping.

It’s about arriving.

Back inside my own body.

Back to the woman
who spent all day
being everything
for everyone else.

The smoke curls
toward the ceiling,
taking nothing from me.

Only giving back

the space
to breathe,

to think,

to write,

to remember

that I exist, too.

Tomorrow
the babies will wake.

The coffee will brew.

The dogs will scratch
at the door.

Life will begin again.

But tonight,

it’s just me,

the stars,

and the quiet trade

between the weight I carried

and the peace
I finally let myself feel.