Poetry
Plenty: A Morning Poem at 75

Emma Lou Thayne
Volume 23, No. 2

You do not have to do it again
any of it. Only if you care to.

You do not have to hold onto being anyone, anywhere.
Enough is more than plenty.

Soft winds and harsh
have ripened you, sent your breath echoing

ecstasy and despair. You have only 
to let your fingers

tell you what you love:
Tracing an idea across a page,

          putting a ball in flight,
          spanning the back of a newborn,

          touching a beloved cheek,
          finding a fit,

          eschewing an alarm,
          knowing when to let go

          as the pages tear away.
Sun of morning visible or not,

your intimate acquaintance with the night
says only this, this private arrival

bears forever repeating
until there is no repeating at all.

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