She wakes this morning with one foot at peace
And the other rumbling, tumbling
Concerned for something quite unknown.
It is springtime today. There are fast moving finches
Turning their curious beaks up at the tall birdhouse
That stands between the patio and kitchen window.
What happened that night it and the chirps inside
Fell to the ground, only a scattered feather or two
Telling a vague and troubled story?
She is still for the stillest moment—
The stillness of the kettle just before it steams--
Wondering how anything could be amiss on this promising day.
Still rumbling, tumbling—curious how she could today
Feel unsettled, sometimes lost, sometimes found,
Either way with empty pockets and partial gratitude.
She looks at this grateful dog
And in her mind reviews
Every real reason this is a good good day.
There will be time to plant the peas
And plan the garden.
There will be no work today, no chores to speak of.
No sickness, no broken promises, no unexpected loss.
No late payments, no betrayals,
Not even an empty gas tank.
Today is a good day.
She asks ever so slightly,
a moment before the commitment is made:
How she can be so wise, and so lucky, so alive,
And so aware
And too, so paperthin?
She rises from the night,
Feeds the dog, makes the coffee,
Answers the phone, picks up the mail,
Calls the dentist, waters the plants,
Readies the peas:
Every act born of
cautious hope for a good good day.