Sun's in my eyes this morning.
Winter coat clutches
as I steer toward work,
a building full of children
already bundled in borrowed cares.
there's still time to talk
about gratitude, or the lack of it,
a lesson easier learned at eight
I stop, loosen my scarf,
shade my eyes to enjoy a peek of blue,
open a button or two,
watch people waddle in their winter gear.
On the car in front of me, a bumper sticker advises:
"Let go. Let God."
I imagine: rise, light with laughter toward the sun,
wrestle one last time with angels before
a platinum deluge wakes my slumbering self.
inside all kinds of rooms
families will gather to weave
or unravel their stories.
The wind blows regardless.
Thirty-five children with eager hearts
wait to learn; what can I teach them?
In the end, I listen:
their voices, the rustling of wings.
Who can say where faith begins?
Arlene Gay Levine