The Slow-Cooked Sentence

On a morning deficient of light

Rachael Conlin Levy

There was a gritty tenderness to the day as we rose in the dark and moved about the kitchen in a silence interrupted by the shutting of a cupboard door, the tink of spoon against bowl, a swallow, a rustle of newspaper. The first of  the family left the house when the sky glowed darkly blue and from behind curtains our neighbors’ porch lights burned like stars. A fight erupted over a spoon, or, more accurately, the use of two spoons by one person. Apparently, the dishwasher was not turned on last night and there was a shortage of utensils. Harsh whispers became loud voices that were cut short by a command to return to bedrooms in order that the day could be restarted with a better attitude. The house quieted again, and through closed windows I heard the calls of birds and found comfort in their songs sung in darkness, because this is how I comfort my own children, singing to them in the night, cradling souls deprived of sleep.

3 responses to “On a morning deficient of light”

  1. I know restart often works in the land of technology, but hadn’t thought of it as a human solution. Nice work. And I love your last sentence.

  2. kyndale says:

    I’ve got to try that sometime with my kids. Sending them back to their room. But, I like singing too. Jonathan is more of a singer. In the past few days I’ve noticed the birds singing in the morning right before the sun rises.

  3. Rachael says:

    Denise, I’d never made the connection between my own word choice and technology, although I notice it in my children, particularly when they ask me to “pause” during a story I’m reading to them.

    Kyndale, I don’t understand the birds, busy singing in the dark, but it’s one more reason to get up early, with writing being my first!

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