I sit down to write a poem
and find nothing waiting
to be voiced. There is
the liquid purple sunrise
that lingers for me to wake
now that it is fall. And there are
the two sleeping babies
I have just left, one chattering
into the bars of her crib.
There is the tight flutter
in my chest I can’t name.
But all these things are
already being appreciated.
There is a couple waiting
at the crosswalk, who turn
one after the other to point
at the brilliance of the new day.
The faces of the skyscrapers
are glowing gold, for everyone,
even the ones who might prefer to be
heading the other way, home.
We all know the pattern.
2 thoughts on “The Good, The Hard, The Daily”
I love the movement of building the setting! Nicely done! 🙂
Hi, Ethan. Thanks for reading –and leaving your response! It’s always great to know what someone notices about your poem.
Happy Monday, and good luck with your writing this week!