Tatiana Johnson-Boria

Portrait of a Mother Before Sunrise

My mother is Black
under the eyes in
twilight. Her mind 
readies for midnight
ventures. The sleeping 
hours have always been
her time⁠⁠ away.
Us quiet children tucked 
among the safety of night.
The hours, slow, and
swallowing, rock her 
awake. Her feet 
glide across the floor. 
Our home resists the 
pressure of her weight.
⁠Her thinking begetting
unrest. How many 
nights does she wait 
for morning to yawn 
into waking? Her eyes
open the entire time.⁠
How heavy the body 
rejecting rest fills 
the lull of quiet. Fills 
the worry to brim, stewing
slumber away⁠—how all the
fear the body holds
endures in restless 
weariness.

‍

Previously published in Nocturne in Joy (Sundress Publications, 2023)
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