alma cook

CHORUS: 
I know the New Nation that we've been chasing 
Isn't all for waste, and 
I know You're here when I need You around. 
But maybe I'd be stronger if I stayed longer, 
Learning right from wrong, or 
The other thousand things that I'm figuring out. 

She loves the morning. 
She loves every part of the day, but especially the morning. 
I think it's in the artistic redemption— 
The quiet call to lift eyelids & skylids, 
The second chances, the third chances, 
The fourth chances. 

And of all the people who might petition God for another chance,
She has a case. 
A case of trophies boasting of the ways she used to move, 
Used to sing, used to. 
A case of empty bottles & ziplock backs 
Testifying to the ways she had been used. 
A case of book after wisdom after book, 
Bought to be borrowed—and we do. 

Her name is J 
For the joy that she gives, 
For the jewel that she is, 
For the Jazz that she lives. 
She's bright in every sense of the word; 
She's bright because of The Word, 
And her Light is my Morning. 

CHORUS 

How humbling it is that a third of our lifetime is untouchable. 
Are we so fragile that for every 16 hours of movement 
We require 8 of stillness? 
Is the world so heavy that by our dying day we cannot lift it? 
Are we so in danger of thinking ourselves invincible 
That we must be reintroduced to weakness on a nightly basis? 

I think so. 
I think often about this, 
Especially as I watch her 24 hours trimmed further & further down 
Until the ratio is flipped, leaving only one third for her use— 
And a painful third. 

Still, that third in all its discomfort brings a comfort— 
Better yet, a Life— 
Like nothing I've seen in all my waking hours. 
From the heart of the storm, 
From the confusion of the worn 
A Revolution has been born, 
One that will outlive every sunset 
Until the day there is no sunset. 
And everything is as the Son said. 

CHORUS