morning

In the morning I wake early
to butterflies and anger,
my steadfast companions
since life dissapointed me.

I ask God please, take this
resentment please,
take this rage.
protect my children born and unborn.
Shield their innocent hearts
from this harm.

My young son coughs, turns
beside me in the bed.
Even while sleeping he pounds
his little fist into the pillow,
tiny fleshed mirror of my soul.

I shudder, weep,
and beg for sleep
but only anger
rises within my belly,
a storm of madness.