poem written last night during rem…

slowly swimming up from sleep, soft snoring stills as eyes assess the clock:

3am, time for all old women to empty their bladder.

throwing back the bedclothes, she swings her legs to sitting, feet groping for slippers.

stands stiffly, stumbles to the bathroom to sit…

eyes closed (she thinks of her cousin who claims the same 3am habit).

lighter, she staggers back to the warm security of spooning.