the Ghanaians time.
Was it the bluejays woke me
with their cawing and shrieking—or
was it the foxes barking at an owl?
Suddenly, loudly, I am awake,
bolt upright in bed. My husband,
snoring lightly beside me, doesn’t move
or turn as I go from room to room
shutting doors and drapes against intrusion,
trees still black against the paling grass,
descending sky. No doors out there
in the real world. On my own, I
wouldn’t know the twilight from
the dawn—could work or sleep around
the clock. Only time would tell
the difference—its tiny hands
inching their way across my life.
— Gloria Vando