Sunrise

She walks through mornings thick with fog,
scanning the horizon for a crack of light,
a reason to believe the sun will rise again.

In the quiet, she listens to the pulse of the earth,
the imaginary sound of seeds pressing up through soil,
the whisper of leaves daring to unfurl in the morning sun.
She wonders what gives them the will to grow
from this dark, unforgiving ground.

The first colors of dawn appear,
and somewhere in her chest a faint warmth stirs,
a lilac blooming after a long dormant winter,
like a gentle voice reminding her that maybe
there is still a place for hope.

 

Mentor

There’s a steadiness in him,
like stones under a river,
worn smooth by everything
they’ve carried.

His words are autumn sun,
just enough
to warm the places
I didn’t know were cold.

I sit at the edge of his warmth,
never crossing the line,
never naming the feeling
that opens like a window
whenever he laughs.

The light loves him.
I just try
to stand
where it falls.