Brighter Than the Night

I wake
and see the light ahead—
it’s dawn.

Memories of my grandmother
murmuring over my tear-stained face,
a bit of wisdom
I have never forgotten
these seven decades later:
that the morning
is brighter than the night.

Those incantations,
said as she tucked me in,
let me sigh
and let go of the angst
that kept me
from the comfort of my blankets
and the bedraggled square of cloth
I clutched as my eyes closed—

to dream
of playgrounds,
pumpkins,
and pony rides.

What a gift she gave me.
And still,
to this day,
I look forward
to each sunrise
and to the irrefutable fact
that each morning is,
brighter than the night.