Morning Song

Morning Song  by Nancy Schatz Alton

 

“The best chance to be whole is to love whatever gets in the way until it ceases to be an obstacle.” -Mark Nepo

I love the dirt-caked kitchen floor, the way I wake and clean her, how she feels

upon my feet, new: ready to start again.

I love the way I wake, rested, despite needing two meditations to talk me to sleep

how my body knits together in the night

my mind fresh: those cleaners shushed out the gunk

during the May night.

The night that smelled of smoke, my neighbor’s brisket

or the fires already raging in Canada.

The smoke lines us and sleep weaves her way into us

knocking the soot from our lining.

 

I love the way my fear claims me, this knowing that I must claim her

call my fear female, make her lovable and mine.

The way I know my words will make more of a mess of her

how I don’t sing her to sleep with words.

How I invite her to the walk with my friend

and she gurgles up my throat, out into the air

makes a place of tears that line my eyes.

Oh fear: join us, come along for the amble.

Fear: you are my preamble to change.

I fold you out from the inside, place you in my softest shirt: you rest.

 

 

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