poeming on a friday morning with the sunrise



All We Are

This morning, I woke with the sun, unusually: it is not Saturday. This morning, I had a chance to see the sunrise cast its pink on the house behind us, as it burst over the houses in front of us, orange and amazing. [All we are is beauty.]

This morning, I began by breathing: always always always, connected to my breath. [All we are is breath.]

This morning, I waited with my son for his bus. The one that comes to our door, with an aide and a smiling driver. One of a thousand short buses. We are so lucky. [All we are is unique.]

This morning, I sat with my anxiety and my grief and my happiness and my surety that everything is the way it is. [All we are is everything.]

This morning, I finished the novel I'd stayed up too late reading. Two more left in the series. An ache but also a relief. [All we are is release.]

This morning, I woke with the sun, marveled at its beauty and knew that the beauty in me was just as fierce, just as fragile, just as effervescent. [All we are is beauty.]