Things for which I will always make time

... include friends, food, and maybe even poetry. I used to copy out poems in little bits of paper and post them up nearest to where I work at home. When I get discouraged by the tepidness of my own writing I stop and read a few lines, then a few more - until I remember again why it is that I do the things I do and am the person I am.

In Toronto, the public transport system had a series of 'Poetry on the Way.' I copied this one down in my notebook whilst on a train. Unfortunately I can't attest to the line division, but I would like to share it with you anyway.

image via Crafty Pod

I hope you have mornings like this.

Untitled

You are still young. Someone curled an arm around
you as you slept, and upon waking gently
touched your face. The first sound you heard
today was a bird, a note of origin, before traffic.
It's been years since you thought the morning
kind. Someone curled an arm around you
as you slept, and in the afternoon readied a
hand toward you that you held, simply.
A note of origin, before traffic. Words you'd left behind rose
like birds to all they keep unto themselves.
This is mine. Upon waking to that first sound,
someone gently touched my face. This afternoon
I took his hand, simply, and reached across
the words I'd left behind. I'm still young.
It's been years since I thought the morning kind.

-Karen Solie
Now I must return to grappling with my essay.