Before my Children get up

I could go back to sleep, but this silence rests in my open eyes
Slouched and couched I dream of turning the coffee on, to my surprise
I already did that, but it’s two rooms away smelling strongest.
This duration of listening to white noise could be my longest.

I let coffee make slurps in the other room rather than get up
In my final moments of solitude I’ll slowly fill my cup.
Until isolation’s interrupted by a child’s crying
I’ll be sitting on the couch with my feet up calmly denying

that my solitude runs clockwise ’till kids get up and out of bed.
Somedays this spitup covered boppy should stay lodged under my head.

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