I have never understood

naps. Tell a mother with a colicky baby what a nap is. Naps are for cats. I’d rather sleep 12 hours than have a 30 minutes here, an hour there. Unless we’re talking Sunday “naps.” The kind mother and father took, their hymns, sung in unison, through breath and tongue.







Rosemary Royston is a poet living in northeast Georgia. Her poetry and flash have been published in numerous magazines. She loves red: clothes, lipstick, glasses, scarf. Her favorite umbrella is multicolored dots, lending a Mary Poppins look to her couture.