Race Day

by Stephanie L. Harper

Watermelon-red streaks the hazy east

as I fumble my glasses to my face:

I’m furred in fog, a predawn-beast

like Mailbox rustic on her hickory post

& Seymour Sycamore across the street.

I fall into our Honda wearing darkness

like a sheath & belt in with a shuffle

of beanie, phone, purse, travel mug & keys

& all the while I punctuate my fuss

with grumbles of kinship for the earthworms

all sluggish in their October torpor

(which the robins know as open season);

for I am no less annelid, turning stiffly

morning-ward to feel a beam on my skin,

despite the season having forfeited

her last saved-daylight grains to zealous crops.

I’m rather fond, I’ll readily confess,

of mornings spent in bed, oblivious

to both the autumn sun’s ascent & sage-

stalks’ dogged crimson fingers giving chase,

as long as I’m not missing something vital…

But, today, I rose before the sun

to drive, heavy-eyed, with a dreamy smile

for the silhouetted vultures circling

above the 5K racers at the start-line,

breath-puffs ablur, up Mulberry Street,

to convey my son, as if I were dawn

on the way with her early-bird to sing.