Morning Poem (For B—)

This was written after talking to a recently widowed friend who had two small children. I’d also been re-reading Sarah Zettell’s Fool’s War , with its observation that “life wants to continue,” and some of her ideas crept into the poem. This was written more than six years before I became a father myself, which changed some of the metaphorical ways I thought about childhood. But not, I think, this one.

 

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Awake again too early
after dreaming of death:
Long fingers reaching out from beyond the night
and into the dream.
Awake again too early
after a night too long and too alone.
Holding life
No clocks no alarms just hunger–
FEED ME NOW!
Life begins again
and the fingers retreat.
Still the night waits.
Finally the sun comes up:
Winter morning, sky bluer than blue,
no clouds just a robin’s egg filling forever.
Still pink at the edge as the sun asserts itself;
It’s a cold morning, but hopeful.
Life continues, cries to be fed.
Some hungers go deeper–
deeper than night
deeper than a baby’s cry
deeper than a blue sky morning.
Life hungers for touch
after a night too long and too alone.
Awake again too early
but morning brings adventure
and new hungers
and new stories.
Awake again too early
after a night too long and too alone.


 

Copyright © 2004 by Leigh Grossman