Groggily waking to the cry of my newborn
in the next room, I remember giving thanks
for the sound of life at dawn.
I never took my baby’s breath for granted.
Yet now, in an empty house,
it takes effort not to roll over with a groan
when a buzzer rouses me from dreams.
I’ve sat shivaSeven-day mourning period following the funeral of a first-degree relative, during which time family members remain at home and receive visits of comfort. Other customs include abstinence from bathing and sex, covering mirrors, sitting lower than other visitors, and the lighting of a special memorial candle which burns for seven days. for too many
who should have lived
to see another day.
And so I remind myself with a prayer
to be grateful my soul didn’t
slip away in my sleep.
Modah Ani. I have been granted
another dawn to reject despair and
discover what else awaits before
my days come to an end.
Originally published in Poetica Magazine
