I Am The 4am Daughter

I am the 4am daughterof the slippery epiphanies

Of the unspoken-come-back-and-haunt-you truths from the days before

Of the wailing until sleep comes

Of the innocent backing-into-it love making

I am the 4am daughter of the secret songs and talking tales for how the universe got here

Of the gleanings too wise to bring with me into the sunrise

Of the fumbling-to-find-the-paper-and-pen- please-don't-go-away-before-I-can-see-you poems

Of the coyote's first hallelujah chorus because it's so damned good to be a predator in this life

I am the 4am daughter of the grief that takes my bones apart one by one

Of the deep dream breath which carries certainty of my place on the earth

Of the numbing insecurity that has me question my right to be here

Of the soft sweetness of naked limbs between flannel sheets

and a snoring elkhound

I am the 4am daughter of endless lists and impossible expectations and you-better-get-it-right-this-time's and glorious unconditional self love and of peach-bellied robin's first whisperings of her last dreams of the night and sometimes, if I miss this bus, I am the 4am daughter of sleeping right through

(But not very often)