On three hours of sleep
How jealous am I of the gifts a sunrise offers?
I’m green like the grass, wishing I could rise so triumphantly.
No birdsong in my croaky first words.
No glisten of dew around my puffy eyes.
Yet I awake to a home zinging with energy,
the rhythm of quick footsteps, uncontained giggles,
and a cat willing to exchange a nuzzle
for the sound of a can opening.
I’m envious of the Sunday morning slumberers,
shrouded in warm quilts and undisturbed dreams.
But I am here. Now. Doing. Experiencing.
Reminding myself that present is a wonderfully loaded word.