sara Etgen-Baker Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

poem written based upon this image--an online poetry class assignment

Upper Air of Morning

They say the house where dawn was born  
still stirs in the early shimmer of day  
a quiet so tender  
it feels like the world remembering  
how to open its eyes.  

I walk its threshold  
where the walls glow with a warmth  
older than fire,  
and the floorboards carry  
the faint pulse of beginnings  
still learning how to rise.  

The air is soft,  
woven from the breath  
of newborn radiance,  
and each room holds a shimmer  
of something half-formed~  
a thought the cosmos once whispered  
but never finished.  

In the chamber of earliest brightness,  
the windows bloom  
with pale gold murmurs,  
and the shadows kneel  
as though listening  
to the first syllable  
light ever spoke.  

A stairway turning like thought toward the upper air
leads to a landing where the hours gather,
not in silence exactly,
but in that faint, early brightness
that feels as if the day is remembering
how to begin.

There,  
in the attic where morning was molded,  
I find the cradle  
where the sky once slept~  
a curve of soft brilliance  
still holding the shape  
of its earliest dream.  

And when the world grows dim,  
the house exhales,  
letting dawn rise again~  
a soft, opal-bright promise  
that every darkness  
still carries the memory  
of light learning  
to live.

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