Mornings

On Mondays, she barges into my room,

Throwing away my Sunday laze into

The laundry.

She slaps 57894 tasks on my face

And speaks to me in a hurried tone

As my mind still snoozes itself.

On Tuesdays, she’s full of hope

Brimming with a sense of accomplishment,

Trying to make sense of my dipping motivation

As she offers me another strong cup of coffee.

On Wednesdays, she’s kinder.

Letting me breathe, maybe stay in bed for an extra 43 seconds.

But on Thursdays, she turns up the volume, plays faster music and

Gets me to tap my feet to her pace.

Confused if it’s Saturday, I play along.

After all it’s one more day to more sleep!

But on Fridays, she comes dressed in casuals, a tune in her lips with a gentle smile, offering me a bagel.

Even she’s tired but she must show up.

On Saturdays, we snuggle in bed,

Both of us in our dreamlands, savouring

Every minute of not feeling

The alarm constantly going off.

And on sundays, she puts on a face mask and disappears.

Perhaps that’s why this day feels slower, and my tea gloomy, as I add one more spoon of cheer, trying to feel her energy.

And I go to bed that night,

Waiting to see her again the next day.