Moment
You open the door
to a morning so crisp
you could snap it in half if you tried.
You feel the fresh chill
where it skips up your skin
as you move from the warmth to outside.
For only a second
—one glorious second—
you’re alone in the morningsharp air.
Then they call out your name
And you say “Just a second!”
…
But the second is no longer there.
to a morning so crisp
you could snap it in half if you tried.
You feel the fresh chill
where it skips up your skin
as you move from the warmth to outside.
For only a second
—one glorious second—
you’re alone in the morningsharp air.
Then they call out your name
And you say “Just a second!”
…
But the second is no longer there.
This poem is copyright (©) Annelies Judson 2024
About the Writer
Annelies Judson
Annelies hails from Aotearoa New Zealand. She likes cooking, cricket, and her kids (not in that order). This year she won a kids’ poetry competition, and it made her want to call herself a writer. When she grows up, she'd quite like to be a dancer or a children’s entertainer.
