In the early morning
In the time it takes to wiggle
my way out of the heavy blanket of sleep,
slurp with grave determination – a singular cup
of crushed bean broth
and feel the drooping eyes stand like a jolted corporal, to attention,
a voice, assigned by time, a 30 word
sings – in twinkle star time -
Mommy, mom, mama,
and a small self-propelling fragment, not yet assigned the right of humanity -
sucks with nature’s assurance, every fraying shred of
warm, gooey nourishment from
- and -
aroused from the quiet self-centeredness of morning peace
I am forced, once again, to think of someone else. two.
to place with cheerful insistence a need above my own.
and in this insistence
to grow from a singular substance into something
greater than just my own, insular, self.