A Lullaby We Sing to Ourselves

Alissa Morgan

Childhood is painted in a golden hue
Like that solitary hour in a summer’s day
When the sun’s weary head droops.
In that time between the sky’s circadian sleep
And wake cycle, the grass is yellow
And the lightning bugs set fire to the fields.
You may have one or two moments of this color
In adulthood, but no more. Sundrops spilling
Onto the floor through the slats in the
Blinds to warm your toes. This is all.
If you were a child you would have no use
For blinds. The rug beneath the bay window
Would be your bed and your blanket,
That golden light. Good night. Good night.

Alissa Marie Morgan is a critical care nurse in Aurora, CO.  She is a member of the Lighthouse Writers community based out of Denver.