by Mimi Whittaker

Created on: April 28, 2008

Morning

Sometimes a slant of sun
strikes the clear water as it pours
into the maker and the moment
is radiant,
alive.

Opening loosely drawn curtains
to the sound of coffee, the scent
of water brewing dark and rich; outside
a fat green hummingbird searching
the last yellow flowers
as morning
lights the room.

Far from the fear of mornings past
when the air outside was white with breathing,
when the battle
had to be won at any cost
to earn the paycheck.
If she fails now
she only fails herself.
No young mouths to feed.

Comfort comes in
measured tones of road hum,
in wooden
floors that have waited
for her feet a hundred years.
An easy chair, fresh clean sheets and windows
to the yard
but most of all
the noticing of
all she has embraced.

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