Window Gazing, Michelle Attafi

Across the 4am sky, the indigo drawls,
From under a cloud, the first ray of light crawls.

For some reason, I’m up – weary yet awake,
Making steps to my windowsill I struggle to take.

I gaze out the window, and alongside the trees
I see the glassiness of a puddle quiver in the breeze.

I’m suddenly five, splashing in with Wellington boots;
Smell of rain up my nose, lingering on grass shoots.

Hopscotch, picture books, paper maché.
Before I knew how to overthink, all I knew was how to play.

Cartoons and cereal were the foundations of my mornings.
Long before responsibilities hit me without any warning.

Cascading down topsy-turvy slides, hoping it’d never end;
Now I’ve emerged out the other side with no free time to spend.

My eyes were bright and my mind was naïve.
Years later, I’m cynical, overworked, and bereaved.

But this is life – equal parts pain and pleasure.
I balance my complaints and gratitude in good measure.

I retreat back to bed, cocooning in my duvet.
In favour of all things new, I tuck my memories away.