The Stir Poem by Susan Lacovara

He sleeps
beneath Sunday morning sheets
Unaware that I have moved away from his side
Into the early hours of "mine"
Hair uncombed
and on my third cup of coffee
I usher in the waking day
Sharing my morning with the poems in my head
I left our bed
but left him warm
So I could empty my head of song
and sentences
that ride the carousel of my mind

I check in on him
between the pages of these gentle hours
Pulling the covers up under his chin
Before I begin to write again
in the softened silence
I know when he rises
He'll pray, first and foremost
Before preparing a plate of his own delicious words
And all his nightingale stories, unheard,
There, while we nested
in the same shared space of sleep
And thus, we shall to keep to our promise
Of securing a stretched out Sunday
Penciling in only the task
of walking the dog, together,
In the dampness of drizzling rain
But for now I remain
In the company of fresh brewed coffee
Awaiting my sugar
to stir from his sleep