After The Alarm Poem by Micron Jan

The room wakes before I do—
light already standing in the corners,
quiet laid out flat like a held breath.

For a moment, nothing is wrong.
The clock is just a shape.
The world is still.

Then the thought lands.
Too late.

I slept through the alarm.

Panic snaps me upright,
heart racing to catch up with time.
Sheets tangle my legs,
the floor is suddenly cold and urgent.

Light feels accusatory now,
the silence loud with consequences.
I'm already running in my head—
keys, shoes, apologies—
leaping from bed as if motion
might rewind the morning.

The quiet breaks.
The day has me.