First Thing in the Morning

The idea was to separate me
from a tangle of children
Warm limbs, pile of my love
Little arms around my neck.

The cold air and the orange seeping
In through the curtains were
Surely the call of a different
Kind of sleeping, waking

Into my life is impossibly real
Children, husband, work, running
Cooking in all that space of
Cold air greeting, the piles of results

Of all that on every room floor
with Legos.

8/23/2014