Under the Quilt

The morning sun
streaks across me and
warms my face
              just enough
to rouse me from sleep.
My body still weary from restlessness
protests the waking…
              But I stretch and yawn and
              feel life begin to course through
my muscles and veins.

Age and life have worn on me
like my grandmother’s tatter quilt
                 the one that still warms me
on cold nights.

It, like me
is old and used but
still it serves its purpose.

My eyes focus
on the beams of sunshine
that fill the room
                  replacing the night cold
                  with warmth.

I throw back the quilt and
feel the mixture of
                 more cold than warm
against my body and
                 I am tempted
to pull it back and
                 let it cover me…
But I do not
I must rise up
face the day and
                 move on
like I have
all the days of my life.

Tony Sexton