Chronicle of a Morning

The hum of shower water is my first indication that a new day has come.

In the absence of a babbling brook, or pounding surf –

Shower water will do.

There are no longer children climbing on my bed

Pressing their warm cheeks to mine

Smelling of crusty noses and baby’s breath

Scents that make a mother’s heart turn over with unspeakable love

There are no lunches to be made or school buses to catch

Just the comforting sound of my husband in the shower

And eyes that open slowly

To the silence of trees outside my window

Swaying undulantly in the spring breeze

As if they were beds of kelp in deep sea water.

I wish the sky behind them was blue instead of grey

I thank God for hot cups of tea on grey mornings.

And remember that when the sky is blue and the morning is bright,

I will thank God for yogurt and fruit.

My husband kisses me good bye and I am left to

The cooing of wood doves and the hum of the refrigerator.

Bed covers for company.

No baby sucking at my old, empty breast

No one needing breakfast but me.

I slip on my sweats and pad five steps to my little kitchen.

Fill the pan with water and set it on the stove, clink,

Put bread into the toaster, click,

Open my book and write about slow empty mornings,

Not a bad thing, my favorite kind, really,

The only sound is the hum of my pen moving across the page.

Finally, I am a writer, a chronicler of the morning.

Unhurried. Unworried.

But still, I listen for the baby’s cry down the hall.