Morning Couplets

Owning of space, owning our schedules and property, owners of
our family rights, our time to go forth.

A morning run to shake off these emotional holds
like leaves, separating, only to return next season.

Our cats paw at the flower boxes, run circles
in a confined space; a mock freedom, a trial run.

This temporary space, a countdown to the next phase;
more ground and duty, our sanctuary.

For a year the slow hand ticks, then spins around
the clock, a measurement of our lives and the time we fill.

A ship sunk and I had not thought of icy waters before,
only bodies lost, and large print on front page headlines.

Amazing Grace drifts over the trees, takes me over the sea;
a transport – and gray air hangs around the dull heat.

I learn to shift gears in the evenings; park,
travel in slow, deliberate circles, and release the clutch.

I am not in the middle of traffic; I am
the girl in the wading pool learning to float.

Rain pelts the ground, a summer drink;
my bloodstream idles, meanders through these moving limbs.