3am

3am.
My stomach is in knots.
And my eyes won’t close.
Restless bones and whirring brain.
My daughter is calling me again.

3am.
Screams in the woods.
The fox cubs are crying, too.
The buzzard is hunting.
And the owls are calling to the moon.

3am.
It’s my husband’s shift.
His turn to go in,
While my heart is racing.
And my mind is writing.

3am.
A time for reflection.
And stupid assumptions.
Can I see myself in the stars,
If I search really hard?

3am.
There are no answers,
To my endless doubt.
My husband turns over,
And reaches his arm out.

3am.
My daughter sleeps.
There is no need to weep.
Though weep, I do.
And turn to the moon.

3am.
Moon, please shake your fist,
And answer me this;
Can you take my doubt,
And toss it out?

3am.
I wrap myself in summer,
In the cool night air.
With the trees surrounding,
And stroking my hair.

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