The First Thing

The first thing in the morning is not

coffee, or tea; it is not finding my slippers and robe

or petting the dog, or stumbling to the bathroom,

eyes still bleared with sleep.

The first thing is not throwing back the blankets

or looking out the window to see

what kind of day we might have ahead.

The first thing, each time I open my eyes,

is remembering you are not with us anymore,

that your bright brown eyes greet no morning sun,

that your laughter is forever stilled.

The first thing is checking my heart

to be sure it can manage one more day,

and that I can find my way to joy

one more time.


About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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2 Responses to The First Thing

  1. Libby says:

    This is so poignant. Thank you for sharing.

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