Right this moment

Everyone is asleep.
You can hear the refrigerator
and the first bird of spring.
You can hear the cat in the other room
snoring.

The aroma of last night’s dinner,
pot roast and carrots,
lightly fills the air.
The sun comes over the quarry,
first light silhouetting the trees
that have somehow found foothold
in the harsh grey slate.

There is a slight ringing in your ears,
remnants of a fever almost gone.

Meditation has failed you
and your mind dances like a drunk at two AM,
its songs intelligible and flitting
from bawdy to bawling and back.

Prayer has failed you. Or,
if not failed, then the answer is not one
you want to hear: “Wait.”

And so, you wait.
For the world to come into focus
with the help of caffeine and time.
For the Rubic’s cube you live in to find its true colors.

You wait,
and fill your time with what God sends your way
in the meantime,
offering your frail gifts like a frightened child,
half in hope, half in fear,
but content
that it is your best.
It is all you have.

The cat stirs. You hear it stretch.
Upstairs you hear feet hit the floor.

It is time to put aside your melancholy and join the fray.
There is a life to be lived.

About this poem

Every morning I get up. I pray and do devotions. I write in my journal. I write a poem. Sometimes, if I am lucky, this little ritual leaves me in a place of peace to begin my day.

Sometimes, it does not.

The picture was taken through the window at my desk. It’s my morning view.

Tom