Sunday Morning (unfinished)

Six o’clock comes too early

on a Sunday morning.

I yawn; roll out of bed.

(Not) ready to face the day.


–June 23, 2013


Notes: My twins woke me up extra early this morning, after I had been indulgent and stayed up extra late last night. Each time I write a poem, or the beginning of one, I seem to have a vision for what’s next–in this case I wonder if it will be a full-length poem about my day, each stanza being a part of the day or if it will be several short poems. I’m not sure. I seem to like the rhythm (7,6,6,7) and think I will try to play around with it some more.


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