March, I owe you an apology
I have not seen much of you so far
I suppose I stepped out once or twice
when February thawed and warmed
but in March so far not so much of that
March does not know how
to care about such things
I apologize to myself
It’s hard to know from inside what is working
I’m worried that it won’t be that easy to tell from outside either
***
I don’t regret my choices today
I really don’t
(but that doesn’t let me off the hook:
Go out! Write poems! Expand!)
we go to the rally
we don’t complain about the cold
but we do about the speakers
we want a story
we want better timing on these chants
some are pretty good; some do not impress us
how jaded. and for what? what does it serve us?
and why not? we have opinions
on everything else, we know
where we stand on things
(sometimes)
anyway
I don’t mean to say I was not moved – I was
watching a woman place a stone upon a monument
in the cold
***
it’s weird to know
that half the reason
it’s going so well now
is because it will be over soon
and everybody knows it
[visiting]
There is what I don’t remember
and what I never knew
and what I do not understand
but could understand in time
and there is jumping
and playing
and laughing
and getting so sleepy
that you hover
on the very edge of crying
and laughing again
in this happy home
that is not my home
or even what my home could be
some day
***
Crocus
No one could blame you
for thinking it was safe
seventy degrees is pretty balmy
a week is not a very long time
but friend, it’s cold out now
the wind is bringing down branches
I don’t think I’m going
to see you bloom
[bedbound]
Today success looked like
sitting all the way down
at the foot of the bed
and tears
a sudden squall
on sullen seas.
Tomorrow or Monday
or in a week
it might disappear
like nothing ever happened.
Like the foot of the bed
stayed out of reach forever.
This lion has no teeth
it has a warm and foggy coat
it feels kinda lamb-like
I don’t know that I trust it
but right now
I’ll take whatever softness I can get
The wind howled and howled
and they are predicting snow
and there are tiny leaves
on some of the trees
and forsythia
and blue bells
and that’s how it is
little of this,
little of that.
You know how breakfast is the most important meal of the day?
I mean do you? Do you really know this?
My mother did not eat breakfast until she was in her sixties probably.
Even now she does so for health reasons, under duress.
Breakfast is a meal she does not care about, and so
if she must consume more fiber, she will do it then.
She calls her high fiber cereal “kibble.”
I used to hate breakfast.
(and may have idolized my mother).
I did not wake up hungry, and I did not want
to wake up early enough to get hungry.
Or early enough to eat, really.
Frankly, I did not want to wake up.
And then, I got older.
And I got a job. One that keeps me busy.
Like, really quite busy.
It requires a lot of care
and close attention.
I don’t know what it would be like
if I didn’t eat breakfast.
Most days I eat oatmeal, with nuts and syrup.
Once a week I eat a croissant.
Those days, I feel hollowed out
by eleven-thirty
and if my lunch is not too substantial
I can feel off, feel tired
all day.
I know that food is fuel
but it always seemed sort of,
over the long term –
now I need to feed my body
carefully, all through the day.
Which, it turns out, I rather enjoy.
this morning an infant
with the wildest of hair-dos
wrapped one tiny hand
around my thumb, one around my finger
like he was driving my hand
and looked at me
he doesn’t know what’s up, yet
in any sense of the words
he’s pretty cool
Rain. A long time spent snug at work.
Venturing out. Some slight success.
Home in the daylight to explore with my love.
Daffodils fading on my desk.
I am grateful.