musingsonwomenshealth.com

Is there a difference
Between the days?
There are no labels
Or pointy things;
And it can’t just be
The sun,
Or weather
Hidden
Behind the curtained window
Of my room;
Nor even
The list of things
I planned to do
The day before
But didn’t.
Time hangs
Like someone else’s
Laundry
All around me,
So what I see
Could be any day.
No,
A morning
Should be
A newborn babe,
Delivered
Like a pizza
Fresh with life,
Toppings
Undetermined,
Able somehow
To tempt me
From my bed
With promises
To be different-
To be alive –
To make me
Want to worship it
Again.
It’s all a matter
Of surprise,
Perhaps:
A sun-wrapped gift
Beside the pillow
Begging
To be opened.