3:30 am

Ginny’s gone, but here’s a pome from before all that, in commiseration with all my Facebook friends who post in the middle of the night.

3:30 am
the witching hour
right?

Get up to pee
take my thyroid pill
tuck myself back in
with three pillows

Chris and our dog Ginny
snuffling and puffing
in their dreams. All is right
in this best of all possible worlds.

Maybe you know what comes next:
You’re out there like me
in your warm bed but the swarm
arises in your head and

all the tricks you try only
stir the frenzied buzz.
Who batted the hive
between your ears?

Regrets are the worst:
How could I have done that?
What was I thinking?
OMG, what an ass.

So then at 4:30 am
maybe you get up again
go to the window
where a full moon throws

tree-wide stripes
across the lawn and an owl
swoops past like some
cowled and fretful wraith.

Go downstairs
pick up a book
a diversion in hopes
the hornets will gentle
which they sort of do.

But now it’s dawn. Chris is up
and in the shower, coffee’s on,
Ginny stretches and yawns
and finds you lifting a heavy head

to the new day with gratitude
for sunlight, for imposition,
for all the honeyed routines that keep
things humming.

The hours
unwind with things to do with
effort this time to do better
maybe learn from past mistakes

then fall to your pillows
and let it all flee
until at 3:30 am
you get up to pee.

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