After two hours of changing
his diaper again and again and
again, it was almost sunrise.
Couldn’t go back to sleep, so
I walked to the river trail.
Ducks, Canadian geese, raptors,
even that lone heron waded in as
red-winged blackbirds, wrens,
dark eyed Juncos sung
well-hidden in the trees and brush,
a willow’s leaves measured
the sun’s true light in gold.
Joggers and cyclists sped past.
Had they seen the fog headed toward us?
Mist arched, curled over us, a wave,
we bobbed in this beautiful wake.
Everyone made it through the night.
—
Sherilyn Lee’s writing has been published in Brevity, Common Ground Review, The Rockhurst Review, Emerge Literary Press, and Nonwhite and Woman: 131 Micro Essays on Being in the World, an anthology from Woodhall Press. She has been a Juried Poet for the Houston Poetry Fest, awarded the Westmoreland Poetry Prize, and a residency at Dorland Mountain Arts. She lives in Southern California.
