Why Mary Oliver and I Wake Early

Bedclothes back at 4 a.m. 
Neighborhood quiet as a funeral.
Out the window, snow falls
like a platoon of white-robed angels parachuting
on a mission to infiltrate, to overwhelm the land,
but softly, softly. They gather and
before I know it, a whole army is out there
waiting to do battle with my shovel.
I turn from the window
when the microwave screams: Coffee’s ready!!
I find my chair in the housegloom, flick on a light:
time to bring this dead day to life.
As always, I begin with poetry.
I reach for Mary Oliver, who has never lied to me.
My cat leaps to my lap and together
we look for answers.
I’m ready for anything, but not this:
“Watch, now, how I start the day 
in happiness, in kindness.”

Her words are an egg breaking,
a sun-yolk spreading across the pan.
Outside, fallen angels whisper through the sky.
The cat and I, we’re listening.