Murmuration

Could I roll out of bed, knitting the day together for me and our children, or would I stumble...

read or listen:

I used to wake with caution
in the weeks and months after you died,
returning from far flung dream villages,
filled with visits from you,
or endless caverns mired with
the bone piles of my yearnings.

I didn’t know
if I would awaken light or burdened.
Could I roll out of bed,
knitting the day together
for me and our children,
or would I stumble,
made of broken glass and mud,
turning everyone's life
into sharp moments of misery?

I learned to let the morning come to me,
working my way through the garden of me,
slowly,
patiently,
arriving at now.

Years later I welcome each morning
the same way,
with a soft question of becoming entwining my breath
as a new murmuration
arises within me.