Early

It is early, early
and I am still half asleep,
still a blank and fragile
open book.

The fact is,
most mornings lately,
even before consciousness
the pages fill
with the scribblings
of the loudest voices,
the ones screaming
“doom and gloom”,
the ones screaming
“You must DO something!”
and then disappearing,
leaving me full of questions
about what that might be.

They leave a residue of fear,
a scrambling squirrel
of panic in my chest.

Outside, the sky
is slowly getting lighter
through the outline of trees,
the sounds of birds waking,
the train in the distance.

Inside, the clock ticking,
the refrigerator humming,
the warmth of this home
on a cold, cold morning.

Once again, I attempt
to fill the blank pages
by hand
with these quieter voices,
with Love and Light
and a prayer
for guidance.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith