Morning can wait.

'Mama' I call out to her.

Her snores are my reply.

'Iya ibeji' I say a little louder.

If my mother were awake, I would be holding my enflamed cheeks for daring to call her that.
But from the land of her dreams, my mother sighs and shakes me off.

I smile at my audacity and come closer.

I see the wrinkles evened out on her ebony face.

I see the half smile on her lips.
I watch her bosom as it falls and rises with every breath.

I am enraptured by my mother at rest.

It is almost dawn.

The meat needs smoking for the market.

The little ones need coaxing from sleep.

Papa needs his snuff box refilled before he awakens.

I need to show her my blood stained wrapper and ask her its meaning.

I would give anything for her to always have this peace.

I lie gently beside her and listen to her breathe.

Morning and its travails can wait.

Song of the day: Asa- Bamidele