Friday, July 8, 2016

raw astonishment

Lovely little French breakfast

by Linda Pastan

You tell me to live each day
as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen
where before coffee I complain
of the day ahead—that obstacle race
of minutes and hours,
grocery stores and doctors.
But why the last? I ask. Why not
live each day as if it were the first—
all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
her eyes awake that first morning,
the sun coming up
like an ingénue in the east?
You grind the coffee
with the small roar of a mind
trying to clear itself. I set
the table, glance out the window
where dew has baptized every
living surface.

from Insomnia by Linda Pastan (W.W. Norton, 2015).


  1. Ah. Lovely.
    Since I am SO DONE with this week, I need poetry like I need deep draughts of fresh air.

    1. And good salted butter. :). A horrid week.

  2. Wow - as a lifelong insomniac I welcome these words.

    1. For some reason, I am having the deepest slumber right now (despite the construction)~must be the deep heat of a Texas July!

  3. Glad you're sleeping well. I'm in such a fog from meds whether or not they knock me out. I wouldn't know what waking up "refreshed" would be like - not even as a child.