The dawn never hurries; it is too sure of itself.
Lines for an early morning, March
You wake up anxious. Sleep was a respite,
but now your worries are pouring down your throat.
Somehow you breathe. Somehow you get out of bed
and make coffee. You try not to face the day,
but instead go to your room and close the door.
The year is insistent in its turning;
already the world can feel the nudge of spring.
Six a.m and you dare to pull back the curtain.
There is a glow on the horizon.
You switch off your light, clutch your warm cup,
stare into the repenting dark.
The dawn never hurries; it is too sure of itself.
You open the window, despite the cold,
and lyric of blackbird and robin pours in. The sky
slowly weaves a story. You may struggle to agree with it,
but you cannot prevent a word like beautiful
from seeping into your blood. The tears are from pain,
yes, but something else besides.
You woke up anxious. You face the day.
Gideon Heugh
Gideon Heugh 