When someone asks me
how I am and I reply,
I am awake,
it’s not meant as sarcasm or as wit,
but an acknowledgement that I make:
I no longer take for granted
this minor miracle of the day.
Just opening up my eyes,
seeing the sun’s morning rise
and knowing who I am,
will no longer go unnoticed.
It is meant to pause the sway
of the usual stop and go and banter by the way,
the business of to-be-dones,
shall-be-dones
and must-be-dones,
and give thanks,
my soul has been returned another day.
That all my body’s parts,
barring my age’s fits and starts,
engage and disengage and reengage
as they should.
I get to ask myself once more,
What will I do?
What do I want to say?
What will I learn?
What will give me pride today?
And not let the current of routine
drift me past my station,
but set a course
that moves me toward my destination.
I face the day, full throttle,
for time’s breath is on my back
and when I turn to bed and sack,
I want to know,
I did this and that and that,
and felt life’s electric current charging up my brains,
pulsing through my muscles, tendons, nerves and veins.
Then,
I can sleep and know,
God willing,
tomorrow, I will begin again, aglow.
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The minor miracle of the day indeed.
The older I get the more I appreciate waking up to each new day.