This Time

It’s not what you’re thinking,
this lounging late into the morning
in the recliner with the child
who is over last night’s illness,
just so tired now;
the child whose legs
are near as long as mine;
the child who stirs from drowsing
to murmur, “Mama? I love you.”

Don’t call it wasted.
Say suspended, rather, or
perhaps even hallowed.

~ Rebekah Choat

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