Passing Time

by Pieta Mackle Bayley

I looked into the indigo sky,
it’s late. 50 minutes since bedtime.

A Homework book abandoned on the desk,
it’s later. Three strikes of the grandfather clock since sunset.

A bag sits on the floor in the centre of the doorway, marking the night’s half-life.
It’s latest.

The sun’s bright eyes peek over the mountain, 07:15.
it’s morning,
I’ve stayed up all night.