Aubade at half-past six on a cold winter morning

dawn

Dawn’s first light shivers
through half-opened blinds,
creating new patterns
on our old blanket.

The rise and fall of your chest
tethers me to the moment
tighter than the memory
of your warm embrace.

I get up anyway
and make the coffee.

An aubade is a morning love song when lovers part…this isn’t strictly an aubade, but it’ll do. I wanted to capture the ordinariness of a longtime marriage in the old blanket, the warmth of physical intimacy, the sacrifice of loving service. I’ll try a few more in the coming weeks.

I’m in TWO places this week, well, three

Besides the usual train wreck at Catholic Weekend,

click Tino the Cat
click Tino the Cat

you can read my poetry at CatholicLane.com,

click on the title to read the poem
click on the title to read the poem

and read about my Advent-fail at CatholicMom.com

Click on the candles to read the piece at CatholicMom.com
Click on the candles to read the piece at CatholicMom.com

in which Twitter inspires a poem

Heaven smells like
brown sugar and cinnamon,
Don’t you think?

And if it doesn’t,
what then?

It must smell like
fresh rain, then.
Or my grandmas’s kitchen
on a Saturday afternoon.

It could smell like a baby
after a warm bath,
part soap,
part lotion,
part angel.

Or firewood
on a cold night.

Salty air
at the beach.

A field of wildflowers
on a breezy day.

Heaven, I think,
will smell like home.

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