a poem: morning routine

momentary gifts from motherhood

Morning Routine

Dawn breaks.
My tired eyes 
swirl.

Ice meets oat
in a dance with the
espresso shot.

The curve of a rocking chair
greets me like the 
early morning sun.

Tiny legs.
Big yawns.
One protruding tooth.

An eager mouth drinks 
The sweet nectar of
motherhood.

I am the offering
constantly reminded of
momentary gifts.