Morning arrives like a great joy.
The first line of a poem
like an arrow slicing through wooly,
then misty depths of sleep at 5:00 a.m.
repeating and repeating-
Morning arrives like a great joy-
Irrepressible, unless I rise,
commit it to the page.
Morning arrives like a great joy…
Despite a dying mother,
*****the warming earth and teetering political landscape,
*****a nation in denial that consumption-war-debt are sustainable
*****for anyone but avaricious corporations.
Despite Tyler Clementi’s body being pulled from the Hudson,
*****the teen girl who named three perpetrators of abuse or rape by the age of 12,
*****or beleaguered Haitian survivors of an earthquake, cholera, and now a hurricane.
Morning arrives like a great joy
your broad hand upon my arm,
a connected warmth
amidst flannel sheets-
then footsteps, water trickling
as a long-limbed, shape-shifting teen washes her face,
the mother-me, quickly counting
imagining her sister
tucked in a frog-patterned sleeping bag
Then the dog barks, quiets
returning me to the arrival of this morning
where it can be found.