Morning

by Jill Chan

How little it takes for us to remember,
how much you own
for that second of bruising.
For the soul is bruised with your thinking.
Bruised and daily healing.
I hope you are well,
breathing in the air as babies do,
with nothing to fear
but our making,
their innocence and our pride.
We knew yet we continue knowing.
They cry in their hunger as in our love.
Wake up, they seem to be saying.
Wake up. Welcome me.