The Morning After

It's well past dawn when I throw off the cover
restless sleep and open the windows
to the maddening sound of rush hour traffic.

Lying on your stomach, groping for
the wrinkled sheets, you fall deeper
into down pillows, and for a moment,

I think I could crawl back into bed--
hide out in the smell of sex and fast dreams
(like I've done so many times before), but

there is something about the city-loud
morning and the early summer sun
that makes me remember

an old black and white photograph
where the bed caught the filtered light
and made the man sleeping seem like a dream.

Only the woman dressed in a white slip
and looking out a paned window
seemed to be in focus.

-- Judith Hawk