Of love & art

 

The sun is rising over the river, spilling onto the city and into my apartment. I moved down south, in part, for just this: the glow of the sun against closed blinds, even in mid-January. The months of gloom in Michigan were too much for my soul. 

Espresso just bubbled up in the stovetop maker. For the moment, this and the steady rocking of the baby swing are the only sounds. I have tried to wake up all week to enjoy these moments, before my daughter wakes up with her all-consuming needs, before my husband staggers to the shower (he takes the 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift) and then out to work. 

Perhaps today I will wet my paintbrushes, or write a poem. Perhaps all I can do is keep up with the diapers and feedings and changing of soiled clothing. Perhaps. This moment is mine, all mine, when the day lies blank before me. 

My husband looked at our daughter, sometime in the blur of her first few days, and wondered aloud if she will paint, or pick up a camera, just like her momma. We can’t wait to see who she becomes, and to encourage her to thrive. In that vein, I want to put Praise Song for the Day, the poem that Elizabeth Alexander wrote for the inauguration, in Sofia’s baby book.

Anything is possible, my darling. Anything.  

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.
-from "Praise Song for the Day," Elizabeth Alexander