a poem a day for a year #112

by Amy Turn Sharp


my white robe has jammy toast bits on the front
when you cling to me this chilly morning
in your white baby shirt and diaper
we stand by the window and urge the sun out
with our sad faces
with our tiny laughs
no one else is awake yet
but we have had a whole day
inside of this quiet morning
we share a secret cathedral of time
you and I
and it's almost time for me to catechise you
in the ways of the real world sleep order
where we don't wake up so early
where we love our time below the brain
but that will mean that you are no longer a baby
and I will surely find myself at the window
urging time to rewind
telling the planet to revolve the wrong way
around the sun
anything
pleading for one more morning
with you
just you
and the smear of blackberry jam
and the smallest hand
that I can remember
on my face