In the Early Morning Hours (sestina)

Black velvet pressed against my windows
White porcelain, cupped in my hands
Wood floors, creaking under my stocking feet
And all around me the world still sleeps
In those sparse hours just before
The waking of the dawn.

Silent, silky, inky night still hovers over dawn
Midnight creatures stalking past the ill-lit windows
And I, I stand still in jim-jams, for moments just before
I have only just risen, drowsiness still slows my hands
My cat rumbles a purr, and curls to carry on sleep
I shuffle out of the silent house, still no shoes on my feet

Stagnant, chill air swallows sound whole and freezes my feet
I shiver, awaiting only that epiphany of dawn
I could’ve stayed in bed a little longer, another hour of sleep
No one need rise so early, to only light a few meager windows
But such thoughts are brief and passing, sliding past my hands
I’ve gone through this ritual before.

I can’t count how many times I’ve seen this sight before
Walked out to see seeping cold air curl over my feet
Carried a steaming mug of tea in reddened hands
Watched a sun struggle upwards, claiming dawn
Slicing sharp grey light across glass panes of windows
When I could have—if I chose—stayed in to sleep.

Today, I know there are better things than sleep
As clear, crisp light spills across what had been pitch black before
The light is climbing—uninvited—through windows
Telling the rest of the world it’s time to get on its feet
The night is gone, and in its place is the dawn
Get up, move, arise, leap, spring—lift your hands!

Groaning, it’s pushing itself up with its hands
It gives a half-hearted plea—“Let me sleep?
“It’s too early,” it says, “only just the crack of dawn,
“Why does the sun come so early, must it rise before
I’ve had the chance to rest my weary feet?”
I do not answer, watching sunlight sluggishly slither in windows.

I’m glad the dawn has come now, not after or before
My hands are now free from their dulled sleep
I’m on my feet and staring out a glowing window.