June 23–29 ❘ Father of Lights

Father of Lights

I remember being in a sunny kitchen
wearing a dress trimmed in rickrack,
small and angry, unheard in my demands
for a graham cracker. I must have been two.
No matter how I probe, I can’t peer back
before that memory’s edge,

but I existed. I’ve seen pictures
of a baby shower flooded with pink,
my dark head tumbled in dreams
while women around me ate cake.

Before that, I pulsed inside my mother,
trained to her heartbeat
and soaking warmth like an eye
drawing sun through a closed lid.

I lived even before that
in a place adjacent to this world
that no one remembers
but yet still is. From there,
Father set us little lights free
into this world.

I yearn for forgotten radiance.
I toe my way forward, fingers grazing
the wall as I move and feel about
to flip on the switch.

• Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry

• Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com