And Just Like That
It is a dark morning in the midst of spring.
Not uncommon in this latitude,
this strange corner of the country
you have chosen.
The trees, not quite greening,
cast a harsh silhouette against a grey sky.
It is warm. Warmer than the image implies.
Warmer than you can feel this early in the morning.
You breathe in. Deep. Slow. You breathe out.
It does not matter really, what you breathe in,
what you breathe out. It is the act,
the consciousness. The power of it,
The choice to banish. The choice to let in.
to see the harsh silhouettes as art not threat,
the darkness as anticipation of light.
Somewhere a bird sings. You breathe that in as well.
All that is real. Love. Promise. A benevolent God
of second chances. Breathing out the demons
and letting them fly as they will.
And always, they flee. Exposed to light they cannot
stand. The truth they cannot stand. And you are left
with the pieces. Not all of them beautiful.
But all of them real. And that is good enough.
You wake. You breathe. You write the debris
and begin your day. Hot coffee. A lonely diner
with blues wailing and the neighbor’s cat
at your feet. And just like that, you notice
it is spring. Truly.
It just took you time to get there.
About this poem.
Welcome to my mornings. As is always the case, the way I end is more important than the way I start. The God of Second Chances has been very good to me. Pretty much every day.