Originally appearing in the New York Sun, “The Morning Watch” is about falling asleep in church as a child.
I was sure that I would stay
Awake last night, lasting through
To daybreak and the Easter light—
A dawning through the dimmed stained glass
Of Lazarus Rising, Jerusalem’s Daughters,
St. James in shades of red and blue.
Feigning wakefulness, I traced
Curved lines in the high ceiling.
And there, near rows of the doused candles,
I fell asleep on the hardwood pew.
Last night I proudly told my parents
That I could stay awake to keep
The Easter vigil, not just my hour.
And when I awoke, the night had passed.
Through eastern windows, the morning twilight,
Stained red and blue, had begun to seep.
A corduroy jacket covered me.
I flailed awake, and my grandfather, watching
His hour, wrapped me in his arms.
My parents had gone home to sleep.
When I was eight, I fell asleep.
And missed my watch on Easter night.
My father, grandfather, Mrs. Byrne,
Who covered me with her warm coat
In St. James’ Church—Where are they now?
Time has doused the kind and bright
Who watched for me. In passing years,
They have all gone home to sleep.
Only elsewhere will they rise—to a breath
Of new air and the dayspring light.
