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.




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–
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