while my tea brews,
the dog circles my feet hoping for crumbs,
while my husband reads what's new on Twitter
and because I don't get enough sleep at night
and I don't know why it takes me so long to go
to bed, it certainly is partly this poem,
the poems at night that don't come when it's dry
inside, and my mind is empty, I insist.
I insist on writing something and so let me
insist in the morning so I don't have to at
night when the stars are struggling to be seen,
my covers are calling to be warmed by my
warm body.
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