Monday, April 26, 2010

Morning Sun

by Justine C. Tajonera

This morning, I watched you
wake up.
Your eyelids were flickering
with a dream,
your long lashes wavering.

And then you yawned,
a wide open pink mouth
and white teeth
in the sunlight,
your arms stretching slowly,
your back arching
with no hurry,
no worries.

There was no reason
for you to wake up,
no job to go to,
no school work
to begin.

That is the privilege
of being

But you woke up,
bound by some inner
clock of happiness
and wonder.

And then you looked at
me and smiled.
We heard a plane overhead
and you said,
"Airplane!" like a great
discovery, the headlines
of the news.

You headed straight
for the refrigerator
and drank your
soy milk
with a straw,
already weaned
and independent.

What I would give
to not say goodbye
to you
this wonderful,
sun filled

For Badger
(April 26, 2010)

Image from

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