Waking up in a bed
In my childhood house that is still
Not mine, but is home.
Drinking coffee from a carafe
My father brewed it, extra strong
As my daughter still sleeps.
In the room one over
The one that was once mine through
Teenage dreams and formative years.
I creep downstairs quietly
Wood floors that creak with every step
A hug from my mom.
To start the day although
I have been up for hours, writing away
Taking the time to practice.
The craft I dedicate to
When I have seconds to myself that
is as important as breathing.
The birds chirp so softly
As they begin to wake up outside
Reminding me of another day.
There are buds all around
Though the air is still cold and crisp
Spring colors start to bloom.
The seasons are changing
As am I, in this human skin
Another version growing into who I am.
