A Sunday Morning / Poem


the curtains are closed but

the sun wakes her anyway.

you cannot sleep away the sun –

she lazily opens her eyes.

dust filters through the air

she reaches an arm out toward the sky.

“today there will be no clouds”

she says.


Sunday mornings –

they are her own.


the kettle has boiled

her hands clutch a cup of tea.

she sits, watching the outside world

and is happy because there’s nothing to see.

there are no clouds.

there is nothing

and there is sky.

she looks on.


Sunday mornings –

to be spent alone

Sarah xx

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