Poem 3: January 3 (Tomorrow, Again)

Tomorrow, again,
I will awake,
Not with the sun,
But the tiny shrieks
Of a child, screams
Wild and windy enough
To move the clouds,
To roll them over us,
Until shadows, long and tall,
Blow over, darkening
The only thing around:
Her and I, and I
and I. She, one child
With one simple cry
And I, a woman with
Three or four,
Beast with as many shadows
As there are hours
Until I will be
Required to rise again,
To stand again
For the cracking wheat
And the corn crop,
For the mother and father
Of her and of myself.
To be the bread of life
To her thirsty mouth
And clutching hands.
Tomorrow, it will be
All shadows again
All clouds and storms,
All me and me
While I hold her
And cannot hold myself,
Cannot fence myself.
I hold a crayon, one
Single crumbling coloring
Piece, and so I draw
One line. A line around
The only world I have;
Hers. All the while
Painting a place for
Her to live, a place
Where the clouds push
Up against the very
Buttons on God's waistcoat.
Sky, sky - that place
Of ultimate openness,
That Ball and Chain
Of every possibility.

(Time for composition: 19 minutes)