The mornings are my favorite time of day. I love the feeling of coolness and quiet in the kitchen. The scent of brewing of coffee and sweetgrass smoke triggering childhood memories - those good memories.
This morning, I lay with eyes closed attempting to convince myself of the reasons why I should get up. No job. Goals lined in failed attempts. Broken dryer. Piles of laundry. Plans replayed and never realized. Promises made and not kept. Teenagers in drugs. Teenagers dropping out of school. Teenagers dropping back into school. My son calls me a hypocrite. My grandson tells me he hates me. My daughter isn't speaking to me. My other daughter is pregnant 'again'. Where did my son get that money last night? Were the police watching the house? He hates that I think that of him. My bed is broken. I am sleeping on the couch again - where my grandson wet in his sleep. I am gaining my weight back. I am afraid to exercise. I am afraid to take risks. I have many good intentions. I do more in my head than in my physical reality. I am still struggling to make ends meet. I dye my hair. I can't look in the mirror. My grandson barely knows how to read. The world will never know me. I will never know the world. How is my mother? My brother sent me sixty dollars. Will I lie to get money? Will I drink like that again? The closet needs cleaning. The window needs fixing. The door needs repairing. The screens need replacing. Can't avoid looking poor. The city is filled with racists with a voice. I don't have a job. I can smell the coffee. I can smell the sweetgrass. I can hear ...... the mornings are so beautiful. I am here. And no matter what I still care, want, need, plan, love, smile, and face the morning. I am grateful for all of it. That's what being alive means.
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