The corner of morning
is different from the corner of mourning—
One is a cane chair leaning into sunlight,
the other a cobbled alley in a rough city.
One murmurs a hello in the ear,
the other shivers the spine with farewell.
One, an unopened missal with a worn binding and fragrant pages,
the other, an overturned Scrabble board on a hard wood floor.
The corner of morning
is different from the corner of mourning—
One has the slow eyelids of sunrise,
the other, the quick plunge into sunset.
One is the warmth of her muzzle resting on your bare foot,
the other, an empty bowl on the bottom step.
One is a coffee-stained newspaper marooned on an easy chair,
the other, a leather wallet, reading glasses and watch in his bureau drawer.
2 comments:
Pam,
I think this poem is beautiful, morning is my time, my peace and there is a certain saddness that comes with every sunset. Keep up the great work! Love from your cuz in KC.
PAM: THANK YOU FOR THE LETTER ABOUT YOUR DAD, JIM, YOUR UNCLE,JOHN WILL CRY WHEN I READ IT TO HIM. I COPIED THE WHOLE THING. THE POEM IS SO FULL OF LIFE.
MY LOVE YOUR AUNT, JANET
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