Several years ago, I published a poem called “Taste the Morning.” I think of it at the end of every summer, beginning of every autumn. It’s not the date on the calendar that matters, but the light, the scent, the chill of change.
I share it with you now because we wake each morning to such horrific (chilling) news, I thought maybe you’d rather begin your day with a love poem, instead.
Taste the Morning
Love is the soul’s light, the taste of morning —Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
Nothing compares to the taste of this morning when you wake to a chorus of coyotes voicing the soul’s longing from the ravine beyond your open window and see your lover smiling in half-sleep, the sheet and the lace shadows twisting around his torso as he turns toward you. You inhale the barest hint of fall, a surprising coolness alerts your senses and you pray Not yet— just a few more weeks of pretending it is still summer when lazy mornings taste of freshly baked bread, not yet— just a few more days, hours of heat and pleasure with nothing to do but sit and sip iced tea while day’s yellow dress skims earth’s brown body. But with this morning’s breath, you taste the seedy bitterness of coming shorter days flanked by long, bleak nights and you wish you could suck the pulpy flesh of the grape away from thin skin but it’s all or nothing— pulp, seed, skin together. No separation this morning. Keep the ritual. Dream sweet creamy coffee and warm kisses on cool skin. Mourn the fallen summer, seek the soul's light.
Published originally in a slightly different version in my book Rabbit Sun, Lotus Moon (Mercury HeartLink, 2017) because a poem is never finished.
This as among your very best, Andi - thank you.
Andi, I loved this! Thanks for helping me transition into my next season, and incarnation.