5 A.M.

Originally published on HerStry, December 2021.

I fumble through the kitchen searching for the button that turns on the light under the microwave. The one that doesn't shock the darkness out of me. The house is still and quiet.

Start the coffee. Open the laptop. Light the candle that smells of evergreens.

I tuck my favorite pillow behind my back, the one my mom made with the fabric my sister sent. I stuffed it and sewed the gap poorly by hand with thread too delicate for the hardy material. Now I find white fluff on the floor post pillow fights with the kids. I pull the afghan I knit (more proficiently sewn than the pillow) over my legs and shiver. That moment where the blanket leaves me colder, just before it warms me always seems unfair. My stomach growls and my eyes ache. I'll feed the hunger looking for more than caffeine with a black cup of coffee and then another. It's five a.m.