The Veil of Warm Hours

The morning opened like a hush,

not with alarms, but with a shared breath—

me and your son rising slow

as if time had softened its spine just for me.

A coffee cradled in one hand,

a mirror in the other—

I sipped pistachio light

and caught myself in reflection,

a quiet beauty between edits and exhale.

The day moved in warm spirals—

therapy’s gentle reckoning,

My mother beside me like a root,

daughters gathered like returning stars,

and the garden—

always the garden—

offering tamarinds like secrets in the palm.

Work pressed its heat against my skin,

a baptism of sweat and effort,

but still I rose through it—

like jasmine through summer haze.

Ramen, salad, cookies,

a frosty promise to end the page.

The veil did not whisper in riddles today—

it wrapped me in gold

and said:

you are living.

you are enough.