I’m supposed to be writing a poem,
words arranged just so as to create
the same image in your head
as is in my own.
I’m supposed to be playing with grammar,
pretending I remember the rules
so I can feel superior when I break them
and say things like “Poetic license”
with an indignant shoulder raised.
I am instead in bed with my child,
watching the sun rise as she finally sleeps,
wincing with each blink because the eye she
sucker punched when she reached out to make
sure I was still there saw stars flash for
just a moment.
I’m supposed to be sleeping after playing with words
and making pretty pictures with them and
Instead, I lie in bed and watch the stars fade into the
rose blue dawn and the sun rises.