Morning sun brushes my eyelids
like a mother’s caress, and I yearn
to turn my face into the pillow
to bury myself in the darkness
that lingers where the sun can’t yet reach
but I know waking to another dawn
is a gift and that my existence
is its own rebellion against
a patriarchy that would prefer
that I stay in my rightful place
beneath a domineering thumb
so I pull myself up
and give my rage a gentle nudge.
INSTANT NOODLES 