Wednesday, October 07, 2009
First Light (poem)
First Light
That light
entering the bedroom window
this morning,
so softly,
pianissimo spreading,
creating each thing
as if on the first day:
first the ancient dresser,
with my mother and father’s pictures,
she with the ballooning skirt
(already pregnant
in that first year)
he in his high collar
and serious look,
and behind them
the wood garnished mirror
I have carried with me
on so many
passages
about this world,
hanging now on the wall
of this still unfamiliar place,
as if to record each
minute reaction,
each tiny response
to strangeness.
And then the curtain itself,
billowing,
alive,
swelling with vitality,
the prescience of the day
come round again
with its turns
and unexpected happenings,
grace filling the room
like
rose petals
made of light.
Dorothy Walters
October 5, 2009
