The Climb to the Top

Fumbling in the dark

for a hoodie in September.

Morning prayers, a side of

powdered sugar on french toast.

Phone out of reach

from the world's impatience

just long enough to return

beneath the covers unbeknownst.

The background noise of laughter

keeps score of family rivalries.

I'll forfeit my reign if only

you can guarantee a way

To bottle up this stillness

on shelves high out of reach.

I'll climb to my tippytoes every day, if

it promises to just be a little more

like Sunday.