11.14.19-
Bamboo. News. Fog.
Cat Mornings
It begins when I am ready.
Not before.
Mornings can't push me.
Move me into-
Hurry-Hurry-Hurry.
Not the illumination of fog against the window,
Not the tapping of fingers against glowing screens of
news…
I resist.
I roll,
tuck,
and curl myself into warmth and ignore everything.
Including you-
with your flying feet.
Beeping
alarms.
And selfish unshared breakfast.
I remain contentedly "asleep" until...
I am ready to...
Emerge.
Unless of course, like the morning before...
... I choose early as my time
to rise.
Nothing is ever safe at that hour.
Bamboo leaves...
...warm tucked in toes.
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