Daybreak enters the room
roughing up the edges
of a calm night.
No one stomps answers
into the welcome mat.
No one traces the dreams
along our eyelids.
The willows supply the morning with echoes
and defiance (this not how we would have shaped things).
Yet we make ourselves comfortable
in the sky
that refuses to ask us
our names.
This makes sense for a while
until the sun belches out
its answer
and it isn't pretty.
The surfaces of the leaves recount what they see--
A well-wisher with eyes downcast whisks past.
Stars blow holes in the apostrophes.
Sarah Rosenblatt is a Child and Family Therapist who works with at risk children and teens. She has two collections of poems,"On The Waterbed They Sank to Their Own Levels" and "One Season Behind" published by Carnegie-Mellon University Press. She is currently working on her third collection.
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