Tippytoe ©
Written by
January 2012
Written by
January 2012



Tiptoe around- in the pitch dark

across the chiseled old creeky floorboards

as others sleep above you

slide and feel with your feet the sharp edges of the coffee table

sitting in the tightest space it can be

covering almost all your living room...

brush against the puffy corners of the Ottoman

to get to where you need to be

where  your feet rest during the early hours of a new day arising

as you listen to Bethoven

and breathe-

in the dusty specks on the piano next to you

Shuffle, and hear the silence broken

above you

as the moth flickers closer

toward the lightbulb

hiding beneath the lampshade

which is conveniently switched off for

others not to see you.



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  • Joyce Showalter Rivera

    I just loved this poem.  I love to wake up, get coffee and sit in my favorite chair and write my candle light.  You captured my anticipation of the stolen time ... time just for myself so beautifully.