Dawn
Dawn is tardy to the day.
She stumbles in after dark
After the schoolbuses have left
After the children have taken their seats
She is full of apologies
Not her usual brilliant self
as if she has been up all night
out on the town
somewhere else
and does not care to be here
at all.
And what’s the point
on arriving
when all there is here
is rain?
“It’s just one of those days”,
Dawn drones on,
though the truth is
she’s been like this for weeks.
But she’ll try again-
as we all do-
one ribbon of light at a time
one single step earlier each day.
Maybe she’ll even wear yellow
in time,
Or tangerine-
fan out her dress- over the hills
and the valleys
And awaken us all from sleep.
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