Pages to Turn

In the secretary
I found an old notebook
With notes written long ago
before the children became her work.

Now the only pages of interest
are the ones with no writing.
The blank ones are for me to fill.

The pages from the past
are the ones to turn
so I can reach a place
with room for the thoughts of the day.

Her morning

In the morning I leave her
eyes shut and shades still drawn
to go to another part of our house
where morning chores will not wake her
from her last hour of rest.

The children stir first
awaking with fresh questions for their father,
thoughts nurtured overnight in ceaseless imagination.

Our boy often joins his mother in his father's place
until the shades are raised
in the groggy search for clothes for the day.

What dreams come to her during the days early rays?
Secrets of her soul run deep beneath ample covers.
Reluctantly she draws back the bedding
emerging as from a cocoon
like a butterfly stretching its wings for the first time.

The waking world surrounds her.
Quizzical kids ask her their first questions of the day.
An earth unto herself begins to turn again.
Clothing comes after a while,
after breakfast and a check of the calendar.

Only slowly does she take to the awoken stage.
What beautiful bliss sleep must bring her.
She leaves behind the consolation of rest and silence
the instant she stands to greet her anxious brood.