Hello.  I'm Jessica Hopper.  I'm a music journalist and author and I'm going to be reading "Morning" by Wanda Coleman.  This was the first book of poetry I bought as a teenager myself and so it's always had special meaning to me.  

Morning
by Wanda Coleman

he sleeps late he sleeps dead as he sleeps he
waits

he waits for me to rise and take care of it
he waits for me.  stirs as the alarm goes off and i
fumble around for my robe in the dark

he stirs briefly and goes back to cop a couple of hours of death
embraces death even as he fights the dread of aging
getting old he waits

because something will save him.  something will come
at the last minute and rescue him 
from his fate.  something vital alive and beautiful

while i rise and grope in the dark angered by my disrupted
dreams 

the dreams that have never come true because they can't
in this life bitterly mine that chills me in the cold drizzle
as i stub my toe against the hard wood table groping
for my robe

in the dark before sunrise 

while he embraces the pillow and i wonder
what will rescue me from this
know only my sweat and struggle will save me if
i'm to be saved and realize i haven't fully given up
haven't fully resigned myself 

i fight it i fight it 

in the dark as i grope
for the warmth of my robe angry at him as he
snores and tosses in the pillows

and i find my robe 
put it on and bless its comfort and disappear 
into the white sanctity of light

the light that brings me sweat and struggle the light
that blinds me for a second

before it all becomes too clear