Simply beautiful, Dorie. I get the sense that this is a poem in part about loss, but I, too, experience the sensation of reaching for absence most mornings because my husband tends to rise before me, something that somehow never really clicks in my hazy morning brain until my hand lands on the emptiness on his side of the bed.
Thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate your kind words and you sharing your experience. It is a poem about loss but it can transcend as well. One loss doesn’t mean loss of hope. She still gets up and keeps going. 🩷
Your response just triggered a memory: back when my father first passed, I used to wake up in the morning with half-baked thoughts and ideas I wanted to share with him—something I’d done virtually my entire adult life. But those first few months I realized with a shock that he wasn’t there anymore, and another layer of sadness would settle over me. Still, I’d get up and continue on with my day, because I knew he’d want me to.
Thank you for the simple pleasures you write about in your poem. I yearn to experience "Moments" like this once again. Sleeping with my wife for 38 years was one of the most nurturing moments in my life. Safe and sound and loved. Loving kindness. She passed away at the age of 59 over 8 years ago. Still, the memories of her essence keep me comforted as I go to sleep alone each night.
Paul, my deepest condolences for your loss. I hope the memory of her love and presence stay with you always. She sounds like she was an amazing woman. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate you so much.
There’s a lovely drowsy magic in this, like the room itself was waking up with you. Those almost-morning moments always feel a little unreal — soft edges, slow thoughts, the world still deciding what shape to take. Your poem made me want to linger there a bit longer, in that quiet where everything feels possible for just a breath~
Such a lovely poem. You capture those quiet morning moments perfectly.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting!
This is so lovely, Dorie. You captured that tender half-awake moment so beautifully, especially the mix of warmth and quiet ache. I really felt this.
Thank you so much Andrea! Your support and comments make me feel so seen and heard. I appreciate you very much.
I could say the same about you.
🩷🩷🩷
Simply beautiful, Dorie. I get the sense that this is a poem in part about loss, but I, too, experience the sensation of reaching for absence most mornings because my husband tends to rise before me, something that somehow never really clicks in my hazy morning brain until my hand lands on the emptiness on his side of the bed.
Thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate your kind words and you sharing your experience. It is a poem about loss but it can transcend as well. One loss doesn’t mean loss of hope. She still gets up and keeps going. 🩷
Your response just triggered a memory: back when my father first passed, I used to wake up in the morning with half-baked thoughts and ideas I wanted to share with him—something I’d done virtually my entire adult life. But those first few months I realized with a shock that he wasn’t there anymore, and another layer of sadness would settle over me. Still, I’d get up and continue on with my day, because I knew he’d want me to.
Yes I know exactly what you mean.
Thank you for the simple pleasures you write about in your poem. I yearn to experience "Moments" like this once again. Sleeping with my wife for 38 years was one of the most nurturing moments in my life. Safe and sound and loved. Loving kindness. She passed away at the age of 59 over 8 years ago. Still, the memories of her essence keep me comforted as I go to sleep alone each night.
Paul, my deepest condolences for your loss. I hope the memory of her love and presence stay with you always. She sounds like she was an amazing woman. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate you so much.
There’s a lovely drowsy magic in this, like the room itself was waking up with you. Those almost-morning moments always feel a little unreal — soft edges, slow thoughts, the world still deciding what shape to take. Your poem made me want to linger there a bit longer, in that quiet where everything feels possible for just a breath~
I like that very much, “a lovely frost magic.” Thank you for reading and your kind words.
You’ve beautifully captured an ordinary waking moment and turned it into something tender, emotional, and meaningful.
Thank you so much! I am so happy you liked it and felt that from my poem. Your continued support means so much to me. I appreciate you very much.
Wonderful!
Thank you for reading and commenting! I appreciate you.