I love my side of the bed

Beside the big French window
From where I can see the stars and the moon
and the lights of the city when I lay my head
And from where I see the sun inch up slowly
and turn the sky from a cerulean blue to a orange hue

I saw it rise the day after my grandmother died

When I’d cried
myself to sleep and my cheeks were still salty
from the tears that dried. It made me angry-
How dare it shine brightly
and show no remorse when some had risen and others had not?

I turned away

It rose again, the day after my uncle died

As radiant as before making me angrier than before-
How dare it not dull even a little?
I spewed my anger through poetry
I scribbled verses. Those that read
Said I’d written from the heart
and cheered me on

It made me happy
and then it frightened me

for the words had been borrowed
from a sorrow so deep,
it had made me weep
I wished I could write like that forever
And warm hearts all over
like that ball of fire

I watched it rise again from my side of the bed

Beside the big French window

A golden hue. I took the cue

and joined my hands like a nature worshipper

Like my ancestors were
I began with five, then went up to ten
Sun salutations or Surya Namaskars they called it.

I felt supple, my chakras energized,

I closed my eyes

and faced the sun

and  prayed.

And I heard it say, ‘To shine like I do –
You have to burn like I do.’

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