This Morning, This First Poem
It is the first day of the year again, this time in the quiet absence of Portlandia, we have our own quiet way of entering the spaces between the seconds of life, where time fades. The fire makes a noise, inside here where ice and snow make the earth frozen, press us to guess what weather will do now as weather becomes a matter of climate with no divination. I listen to your napping, air going inside to fill you with warmth from the fireplace, air going out to let your soul teach the world what it is to make the journey to the heart. So this first poem the day a golden retriever wallowed in the sunrise over frozen snow, then sat up to grin the silly grin of its kind, as if to say, the light is there if you only wait. We wait together for the first man to enter this house we are leaving for another house, as you say it is me, I am the man to bless the heart, its mystery of fire and the light.
Copyright © 2018 by Afaa Michael Weaver. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 15, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.