Aubade for the changing season
By Brittany Rogers
The sun will not rise early yet
today may be the day to unplug
the sunlamps, glaring at each other
from their corners of the room.
Testify: it is true what they say
of winter’s rotten mouth, of this sky,
bark-dry and starless. Before today,
I obeyed its dog whistle. Sit.
Stay. Roll over. It could be worse.
In some states, sunlight is a myth
whispered by folks who are from
not there. But what of it? What,
when there are places
where the soil is soft
year round, the sun chirping
and kind each morning. This morning
I woke up singing. What if?
Heard my own self sing back.
Wade into what could be.
Light the candles
on the dresser; the vanity;
the nightstand. Fling
open the curtains. Wide.
Wider.
Brittany Rogers is a poet, educator, native Detroiter, and Editor in Chief of Muzzle Magazine; learn more about her at brittanyrogers.org .
