Morning Office

The sun is like a baby
soft and gentle
around the edges.
So different
from the power
of her maturity
only a few hours from now.
But in this moment, she coos,
and can be wrapped in a blanket.
I flip though pages
sipping coffee
as the dog chases
what is that?
a bug it looks like.
Rearranging ribbons.
Hunting for the collects,
psalms, lectionary,
I find one
for the child of a friend.
And one for my family.
And this one for the lonely.
And one for you.
Finding my place
among the chorus of the saints.
Locating this day
in the calendar of Eternity.
Ready now
for the start of the Office
and the beginning of this day.
Here with the infant sun
the dog and the bug
my family asleep inside
on a lazy Saturday morning.
And the ancient voices
whispering with me.
Beginning, aloud,
voice cracking
stumbling, then righting itself
like a ship at sea
"The Lord is in his holy temple;
let all the earth
keep silence
before him."

I pause
to sip more coffee
grow still
and listen.

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6 thoughts on “Morning Office”

  1. I think I came outside and started talking to you right when you were trying to write this. You listened to me so sweetly. I had no idea that you were trying to write a poem. Bet you never expected that one of the things you were about to "listen to" was me? This is a really good one. I think your next book should be poetry.


  2. Jana, listening to you is like listening to God.

    (And, as you both know, I'm actually not very good at it.)

  3. I've heard the idea that death leads to sin on a message board I used to frequent. The poster wasn't (as far as I know) Orthodox. Basically what I understood is that the knowledge of death leads to a kind of fearful, maybe even psychotic grasping at life, a desperateness to grab as much life as one can, or anger and despair at knowing that ultimately all is futile.

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