Birds down in the creek dive and chatter
the cells in my ears twitch in acknowledgement
tomatoes ripened to a mirror shine
my bones stretch to grasp flown over,
common doves arc my synapses alert,
sucking in moisture another Sunday,
another tromp humble pie and humble be
for now that’s what I get:
another moment piled into all that live
cell into cell, above, below.
Snow spitting down like a demented inmate
she kept the car steered just beyond the ditch
rosary beads well tucked
potatoes cooked, ready to be warmed
whirling of wheels and whirling of snow
not Catholics but congregants aching to live
the three of us breathed a little deeper
when the driveway hove into view
the burro just down from us sighing into his whiskers.
Down spitting, a patient too angry to be pilled
dampening coats and gloves and groceries
the wooden deck reached we bid adieu
the Grand Old Man shaking his fist outside our walls
we sat to table, steaming food,
our hush now a shout in the absence of blinding white spillage.
Warmth out of season, a stubborn petunia bloomed purple
a man in Home Depot stared up into an artificial tree
I scooted by, wondering what artificial thoughts matched
Joni Mitchell’s If I had skates to skate on,
words printed on a page siding with daughter’s illustration
pups demanding I toss the new ball
I run into a friend I barely know from Facebook,
I smack into her account of holding a pitbull
holding and crying as it died there in the road
and cherishing what was leaking out.
“Cry me a river!” as another sun sets
and a soon to be president ignores and ignores
the sight of that dog prostrate
a bit of Jesus there, hard,
that fake tree a treasure or a bill to the hardware man.