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By Lori D'Angelo

My son asleep in too small pajamas. 

Head on the pillow, arm outstretched. 

Breathing rhythmically, while the dog 

licks its paws. It's warm now, but we 

don't yet need to blast cold through 

the house, drafts like the touch of a 

ghost. In summer, we might crank up

the AC when the rooms becomes hot

with bodies. Now an in-between time, 

nice one day, nasty the next. I struggle

with not wanting to wake up at 5 a.m. 

With daylight savings time, mornings 

are darker, days light later. Last night, 

I stared but did not take a picture of the

full moon. I suppose I thought, there will

be another one soon, but, in thinking that, 

how many moments am I just missing?

Lori D'Angelo is a grant recipient from the Elizabeth George Foundation and an alumna of the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley. Recent work has appeared in Beaver Magazine, Bullshit Lit, Chaotic Merge, Ellipsis Zine, Idle Ink, JAKE, Litmora, Rejection Letters, Thin Veil Press, and Voidspace. Find her on Twitter and Bluesky @sclly21 or Instagram and Threads at lori.dangelo1. She lives in Virginia with her family. 

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