Growing Up

Morning

Alone and looking at the sunrise
through a window, accompanied
by thoughts of so many people

my aunts first, my mother's sisters
living too far away
here now with me, early risers
coffee drinkers 
writing a poem,
touching beautiful 
nob-knuckled fingers to the piano 
while it gets lighter outside

two great poets, Frost and Angelou
they come when the blood is stirred from walking
under golden milkwhite edges of cloud
on a rainy morning

always you are with me here,
your little blue sock in my pencil bag
for luck

the neighbor's willows
that already sang into leaf
ahead of tonight's frost

and the Webb telescope
destined for deep space
to catch light from the big bang,
waiting in Maryland now
to be sealed and carried South

the person who has the job 
to drive ahead of the telescope
and watch for potholes