By Abigail Rudibaugh
The soft blanket still lays on the leather couch
sprawled out and sliding like the toys will be soon
over the quiet floor, where its unfolded arm dangles,
daily evidence we do not live without constraints.
This new morning covers a whole day’s undoings
with a fresh pour of coffee, with a comb meeting
tousled hair, with a light still bright behind the clouds.
Mercies reborn in the night, ready again for beginnings.
But it is early and the dishwasher needs unloaded,
the blanket needs folded, the bed needs made.
The book still unfinished with its pages creased, holding
hope, fresh from rest, of something incredible ahead.