in the morning

I’ll hear the rattling of my ceiling fan

and feel the golden, muted light as it filters through my old curtains,

not wanting to be awake at all.

when I open those curtains

that have been there every single day of my life,

I’ll ignore the mess they hid:

the terra cotta pot full of cactus mix soil

and a few old seeds,

which I left on the sill and knocked over

tonight when I drew the curtains.

I might look out to see how the sky looks,

whether there are any birds or squirrels in the hawthorn tree.

all those better habits I say I’ll get into:

working out, meditating, not hitting the snooze button—

I won’t do any of those.

I’ll take my vitamins & brush my teeth

& instead of rushing to catch up with the day like I normally would,

I’ll meet it when I meet it & just say:

thank you.