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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