That Joy May Live

Welcome Morning
Anne Sexton

There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry "hello there, Anne"
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.

All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean,
though I often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds in the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
dies young.

I am not in any by-book sense religious. That does not prevent me from appreciating Anne Sexton's celebration of divinity as she perceives it: in laughter, in birds, in the body, in brushed hair and heated water and only the most determinedly senseless would say her nay. As far as I can tell, we could live far worse than thus, each moment a dance choreographed by bliss, delight given life through being shared. There's a communion in which everyone would -- truly -- happily join.