by Janet Sunderland
Dew beards the grass heads, heavy
in dawn’s thin light.
Wake…wake whispers the breeze
like a mother lifting aside curls
on a sleeping child’s face. Day strides the mountain’s ridge.
Fog rises, ghostlike from the sea,
swallows the wharf, stalks the bank,
clutches at each rock, each quaking stalk.
Ghosted gulls fall silent.
A single lonely horn warns travelers.
Snuggle deep in your covers my darling;
the sun’s stride suspended, one step to another.
But day is not bluffed by sleep snuggled deeper.
As suddenly begun, the fog lifts,
a down comforter shook from the world.
Day’s face winks, flicks at heavy-headed grass.
Roosters crow. Gulls rejoice.
The wharf settles into wood again.
And we –we humans who respond more slowly,
lift our own heads, brush dreams from our eyes.
Janet Sunderland is a poet and a memoirist. Her chapbook, At the Boundary, was released by Finishing Line Press in May of 2013. Poems and essays have appeared in numerous journals, including Rockhurst Review, Lalitamba, Touch: A Journal of Healing, Kansas City Voices, and the recent anthologies, Love Over 60, Journey to Crone, and When Last on the Mountain. She serves on the executive board of Whispering Press as Vice-President, is a professional actor, a member of SAG-AFTRA, and an adjunct professor, teaching writing and public speaking.