Between Bruises and Blooms

Some days

the house forgets
what morning is.

Curtains stay drawn,
coffee grows cold twice,
and every clock
seems kind enough
not to rush us.

Goosifer
finally surrendered to sleep
after bargaining with the moon
until half past four.

Tiny gums,
tiny tears,
tiny fists rubbing sleepy eyes
as another little tooth
tries to make its way
into the world.

Today,

we aren’t chasing schedules.

The dishes can wait.

The laundry
can learn a little patience.

The poems
will still find me
when the house is quiet enough
to hear them.

Instead,
I’ll gather sleepy cuddles,
kiss warm cheeks,
and carry my tired girl
from one nap
to the next.

Because these lazy Sundays
aren’t really lazy at all.

They’re stitched together
with rocking chairs,
half-finished coffees,
cartoons humming softly,
and a toddler
who needs comfort
more than clocks.

One day,
I’ll miss the mornings
that began in the dark
and wandered sleepily
into the afternoon.

So today,

I’ll let the world
wait outside the window,

while Goosifer
dreams away
another teething day,

and I remember
that love
isn’t always loud.

Sometimes,

it looks like
a house full of yawns,
a mother running on almost no sleep,

and a little girl
finally,
finally
resting.