Cold in the morning and first thing, you light the fire.
You are stiff and old with misuse of bones and soul
but there is work to be done. You fan the flames,
and slowly, the heat rises,
and with it, color invades the grey of morning.
This is your life, Your mornings. How you begin,
chasing away darkness and demons,
pushing aside your worst nature with fire and light
you have to start yourself. That is how it works,
Newton’s law of motion works, it seems,
on souls as well as objects.
About this poem.
A typical morning. This morning I woke up. I made the coffee, packed up trash to take to the dump, did some dishes before my wife got up. I let the cats in and out of the cold a couple of times. My love and I sat for a time talking before I got up to come here and write, the stiffness and demons put to bed by the most prosaic of things – a little work.
It takes a while to get me going.