Good moms read books at bedtime,
Great moms tell morning stories.
Where there are no mice to say goodnight to the moon
only bright eyed salmon hatching without their mothers, tasting
the width of the water with their clumsy thirst.
They are waking, at the break of the fog,
and there is so much to say.
How a boy can row to shore on his tricycle,
greet the robots with smoked halibut and jellybeans,
he can dance with the best of them, he can
ride the hills until the hills are tired, until they
blow their sand like a silk dress around the sun and the
sun wears it to work all day and everyone wants to
comb her rays and look for treasure.
Oh, good morning.
Did you hear about the prince who was not a prince
just a mailman with a river of love letters and he
slept on a feather there, dipping his toes in
promises and pictures and signatures
so that when he walked in triangles his footsteps left
everlasting bricks until they were pyramids.
Open your eyes, baby,
There’s a dinosaur outside our window and he
picked all the neighbors flowers with his teeth
while they were sleeping and he
took a shower in their sprinkler and they
wouldn’t have known but he started singing so
Mrs. Bingham is banging her Toyota Sequoia
against his ankle and it tickles.
Wake up! See the T-rex laughing.
He can’t help but catch his breath and start a tornado.
We are flying, here in our small white apartment,
the plants, the books, the couch, the dishes,
shooting like stars in our living room,
and we could make a thousand wishes but
i only wish one, you only wish one.
I roll my shocked body over yours and ask for peace,
but you, you
hold out your brave young arms
and I and every scared stuffed animal
Let the day begin.