whenever I open up for you (so you -------------------------------------------
can sleep in) early morning's dark, I know that I am both
only me & all of me at full stride, up the hall,
with clean cotton coffee-filter sacks
& an armful of mugs,
breaking the hush
before first light comes.
I really like the line break there (without the comma, though), because for a second it makes my mind take the little leap to imagine dropping all the mugs. I love the little mind trick - that you use mugs and breaking in the same thought, but it's not about the mugs breaking at all.
Emeya did this once, with a title, and I think Keith does it too. It's effective, it's compelling, you know. Immediate- I think that's the word I'm looking for.
I love the quality of love which rings through your first line, ever so quiet. I like that the love is unqualified- if it's romantic, maternal, daughterly, friend-to-friend. It's open, but the love is there. And it's quietly lovely.
This is a quiet poem, like the hushing morning you break (and I imagine that the breaking of it is quiet, too).
I'm going to ditto Daniel, and refer myself back to your eggplant poem, and say that giving significance to such ordinary things is great. Reading this, it's like being taught how to not be blind.
There is an understated grandness to the filters and mugs. I dig that. I do.
This state you describe: both only me and all of me. Firstly, was it hard to work out how to say succintly? It looks like it was hard; but that pays off. It's gorgeous. There's a self-confidence there, a kind of this is enough, I am enough, you know? And carrying both thoughts at once-- that's what makes me think those words: I am enough for me.
The technical bits and bobs are all here too: alliteration, almost-rhyme. It's good.
I like how unspecified 'morning's dark' is. This could be any morning, it could be every morning. It makes that morning feel more real, more present, not something which has passed but something which is on-going, you know?