A Small Practice
Driving to work on a day that feels
difficult, I’ll pass a tree plush with green
leaves, or on fire with autumnal glory,
or starkly beautiful in winter, and I say,
be part of me. The sky, whether overcast
or blue, be part of me. Clouds drifting
overhead, promising rain or sunlight, be part of me.
Give me a place in this natural world, knowing
I may share the endless width of sky, the upward
rise of trees, the easy acceptance of change.
Lend me this grace so I can lend it to others
especially when I find it wanting in myself,
let it become my nature, too.
.
Clearing
Driving to work, unexpectedly caught up
in a fierceness of memories, that knot
of old fears and angers that smokes this early
morning with an acrid gray. Why now?
I’m tired, maybe that’s it, and there’s a situation,
there’s always a situation. Maybe ask why not?
Old ghosts I can’t shed come calling for me
when they choose, hover on the house walls
or here on this road, blank the sky, steal
what was simple and rote. But I see her,
a woman walking, holding her phone up,
her face alight with joy as she laughs with
whoever is on the other end, and this knot
loosens its grip. Some of that borrowed
light comes with me to work, allowing
me to notice that clutch of daffodils
that have emerged despite the cold. How
straight their stalks are. How bright
and strong their yellow.
