Leah Epstein
Morning
Click! The clock strikes seven:
The cat jumps, jarred from her tomb;
Classical music massages my ears.
Bundled up in a warm down comforter,
I am no longer a pearl on a string.
Once my fingers set the music to sleep,
Silence spreads like a sheet.
I stretch.
The aroma of the fresh-brewed coffee
Draws me to the kitchen,
Tempting me with cinnamon.
The clock is no longer my rival.
Splitting the shades, I welcome the rain.
Ah, what a remedy.
