lifeinpoetry:

each morning i pull myself
out of despair

from a night of coals and a tongue
blistered with smiling

the step past the mother bed
is a high step

the walk through the widow’s door
is a long walk

and who are these voices calling
from every mirrored thing

say it coward say it

— Lucille Clifton, “

[Each Morning I Pull Myself],” published in The Kenyon Review