Rising | Poem


When asked which I prefer, sunrise
or sunset, I answered:
golds, scarlets,
violets bursting from
the clouds celebrating
a day well-lived—
nothing compared

until I saw my daughter's face
pastel and understated
pressed against my chest
in the quiet daybreak. So
peaceful, waiting
for life to be breathed
into the air—for the mourning
dove to coo, for the awakening
of the world.


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