Every morning the alarm goes off, I hit the snooze button.
It’s a motion I’ve perfected over 30 years
reaching for the same alarm clock I’ve had since college.
It’s been my bedside companion through the 90s and 2000s,
through my years in New York and Arizona, when I was single
and alone, awake in the dark, looking at the red LED lights
waiting for the minutes to pass, the hour to change.
Every morning the alarm goes off, I hit the snooze button.
I’ve paused the start to my days in 9-minute increments
for over 30 years. That’s 68 days of closing my eyes
and turning over in bed, until the alarm goes off again.
68 days.
We are each born with a finite number of heartbeats, doctors used to believe,
so the faster you made your heart beat, by running or dancing or
falling in love, the faster you would page through the days of your life.
We now know the opposite is true: we are each born with a finite number of days,
and the more we exercise our hearts, the more we love, the more we make each
heartbeat matter, the more we live each day, each hour, each minute.
I need a new motion to perfect.
Every morning the alarm goes off, I hit the snooze button
but not today. I open my eyes and give thanks,
reach for the same alarm clock I’ve had since college
and shut if off. I turn over in bed and stay awake
listening to the beat, beat, beat of my heart.
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