Before Morning
In that hour
when the first pearl gray of dawn glints between the trees,
And bird
shadows flutter and shift, lavender ghosts on the snow,
Every child—even
the ones with aching bones and silver hair
Tinseled across
their brows, even the ones who stayed up late
Building and
wrapping and baking, even the ones who drove
Lonely roads
or flew, who window-shopped and made lists
And mailed
cards—children wake in that dim hour,
Hugging the
promise of joy tight to their chests,
Whisper their
secret hopes to the angels of the longest nights.
Everything
is possible in that moment, every hurt soothed,
Every doomed
dream breathing with new life.
We remember,
when the still night closes around us,
Who we were
before the world wore us down to fit.
We remember
the thrill of story, the way songs
Threaded our
bones. This moment, ripe with possibility,
Will fade as
the sun breaks the horizon.
Joy leaking
out into the world as a memory
Shared hand
to hand between brothers and sisters,
Mothers and
fathers and friends.
Joy passed
as fingers brush and eyes meet
And hearts
crack a little to let hope in.
c, 2015 Jennifer Crow
No comments:
Post a Comment