Lists / Parenting / Poetry / Writing

3 a.m.

A full moon and clouds

Mama, mama!

a little voice calls through the dark

at 3 a.m.

insistent, without doubt,

that mama’s arms will soon encircle him.

Years ago

3 a.m. meant finishing an essay

only hours left

before it must be turned loose.

3 a.m. meant stumbling out of a bar,

laughing hysterically,

more drunk than I ever was or have been.

I learned not to drink that many bloody marys

in one night.

3 a.m., not too long ago,

meant waiting for my niece

to enter the world,

to make me an aunt,

my brother into a proud father.

3 a.m. once meant studying

in the library

with that handsome biology major.

Turned out, he was gay.

3 a.m. meant admitting that

my little cousin beat me

at Monopoly under the Christmas tree.

3 a.m. means that

sleep must wait,

that life needs attention.

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