San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

THELMA T. REYNA

Let There Be Light

I flood my rooms each daybreak--

slide drapes, lift shades, swing doors to

do the god thing: bring in light.

Outside, the moon’s a faded coin

on trees and clouds, an old woman with

her luster stripped who knows and waits.

Inside, the sink streaks gold, rays swathe

stone floors, the cat blinks and slinks down

from the tabletop, sun-blind.

My calendar can’t tell me how my day

will go, lauded or denuded, how far my

psyche slides, or if  I shine.

But at dawn, my hands are wands

that banish blackness, for it’s true: what they

say, about god inside, god in each of us, how

we’re

all

god.