"The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish." ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Monday, April 23, 2012


My babies and toddlers were early risers.
Five a.m., they were up and awake.
Sleep-deprived, I changed their diapers
and found them some toys (and on bad days, Barney)
and dozed on the couch between fusses and needs.
Years of that, and finally, heaven --
they all got older and learned to sleep in.
And I learned the wisdom of mornings for moms,
starting my day while children still slept,
using the quiet for reading and planning.
But lately my daughter's been coming down early
and using that quiet along with me.
She hardly speaks, mostly sits and reads,
but at first I wasn't sure I liked it.
Of course she's not doing anything wrong;
it's just that I'm used to that time alone,
and the selfish me isn't good at sharing.
But the other morning I looked up at her
and saw her, really saw her now,
tall and serious and going on fourteen,
doing her own thing while I do mine,
yet liking to be near me still.
That's worth sharing my mornings for.

~ Tamary Shoemaker
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a morning poem.)

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