I was driving into the office early one morning last week. The sun had begun to peek over her earthen bed as I drove east to greet her. But no matter how I fast I would be able to drive nor how long I would not be able to touch her.

As she began to open her eyes wider, I thought about all the other women like her. The women who day after day rise early no matter what the night had done to her, or how dog-tired she was perhaps from working a second job to make the frayed ends meet.

Rising, always rising to meet someone else’s expectations only wanting to lay her head down again for even a moment’s peace before another long night just to rise again to another day’s work.

yawning
in yellows,
pinks and melon

pushing
past bruised
purples and black

burning
through grays
of nothingness

rising
she never
misses a day

Later that morning, my friend, Julia, who is a registered nurse and runs the cardiac rehab floor of a community hospital and a photographer texted me this photo. Funny how the two of us see the world the same yet from different perspectives – her from the other side of the camera lens and me at the end of a fountain pen.

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