Hiding Place Inside the Early Hour
You’re there, Dad.
A fold in the sky’s softest cloth–
what rises as we sleep,
the dark and ripe and sweetest wedge.
You dropped every list of activities.
You’re off the hook.
And who are we?
Slice of the deep, all yours and given.
No-talk pie.
Hello, good morning, guess what,
you didn’t die.
Read Naomi Shihab Nye’s Letter to America poem, also appearing in Terrain.org.
Header photo of tree in morning mist by EVISCO_AG, courtesy Pixabay. Photo by Naomi Shihab Nye by Chehalis Hegner.