Stretch

I walk outside barefoot

on the smooth concrete steps.

In the morning air,

I lift my arms and stretch,

my right arm towards the sky,

my left arm towards

a bush with pale purple leaves.

I wear a soft, lumpy nightgown

that billows out at the waist.

I don’t care who sees me.

I watch the dog

who is sniffing

at patches of grass

and holes in the lawn.

The day will come,

I know.

I am up too early.

I am irritable.

I am underprepared.

I can think of people

who may dislike me.

Today, things that should be

won’t be.

But for now,

I stretch

because

I am up so early,

I still have half an hour

before my shower.

I don’t have to question myself

for another hour and twenty minutes.

I breathe morning air,

and I stretch.

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