Still Here, Checking

Morning light creeps in like a thief.
Stealing darkness I had almost learned to live inside.

Bakery smells rise sweet through the floor.
Pastries I will not eat but need to smell.
Something about the yeast and the warmth.
Something about being fed without asking.

I am still here.
A fact I keep checking like a loose tooth with my tongue.

Coffee warms my hands.
Small rebellion.
The cold has been winning longer than I admit.

An old bruise only aches when pressed.
I pressed it this morning.
I don't know why I keep doing that.

Then the sunrise caught me.
Surprised me the way it always does.
Like the first gasp of air after crying.

Beauty arrives without permission.
I breathe it in anyway.
That I am still capable of this matters more than I can say.

The world moves.
I move with it.
One step.
Then another.
That is enough.

--Vera