I wake up with a rejuvenation hangover,
Taking comfort in the ritualistic nature.
Early morning ache.
Sore legs, stiff arms.
I reach my arms to the sky, bring them to my heart.
I reach up to heaven in prayer,
Read words from ancient prophets.
I open my bedroom door.
The white rays of new sun energize.
My capable shoulders take on the world.
Layer by layer.
Wake them up, feed them, pack lunch. Prayers, kisses, frustrated hissing:
GET SOCKS AND DO NOT WAKE THAT BABY.
They board the bus.
Breakfast, shower, dress.
Baby time. Feed, fuss, change, play, laugh, Lock the door.
Babysitter, kisses, worries.
Layer, Layer, Layer.
Phone rings, texts come in.
The yellow rays of mid day sun encourage.
Pick up son, finish work, pick up baby.
Lunch, rest, clean.
Bus comes, hello daughter.
Piano lessons to teach, snacks, homework, kids. Homework. Seriously. Kids. Home. Work. Or. Else.
I trade my day clothes for lightweight.
Already the layers feel lighter.
I open the front door.
The golden rays of the sunset cleanse.
They land on my skin,
I absorb them.
I breathe in the gold.
My feet hit the pavement with an eager hunger.
I walk toward the sun.
My steps pick up speed.
I break into a run.
It isn't neat.
It is free.
The layers are falling off.
They so willingly travel to my feet.
I shake them off,
Leaving them in the cracked pavement.
They fall as sweat into the Arizona heat.
My body wants to burst, so I walk.
The golden rays cleanse me.
What I would give! to follow it forever.
I fight myself and turn for home.
Don't want to run now.
I listen, pensive.
Crickets, highway, soft wind.
I inhale deeply.
Wild sunflowers, desert rain.
I feel clean.
I sleep soundly,
Waking to my beautiful hangover,
Brought on from chasing Son.