Rumblings at # 9

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And just to confirm that perfection does not reside anywhere close to # 9, the woodpile from last fall waits patiently for its proper stacking.
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Lost and Found
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She wakes with one foot at peace
And the other rumbling, tumbling
Concerned for something quite unknown.
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It is spring today. Fast moving finches
Turn curious beaks toward the tall birdhouse
That stands outside the 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?
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She is still for a moment—
The sound of the kettle just before it steams,
Wondering how anything could be amiss on this day,
Rumbling, tumbling—curious how she could today
Feel unsettled, sometimes lost, sometimes found,
Either way with empty pockets and partial gratitude.

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She looks at this grateful dog
Her mind reviewing
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.
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Today is a good day.
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She asks ever so slightly,
a moment before the commitment is made:
How she can be so wise, and so lucky, so alive,

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, now,

born of
cautious hope for a good good day.
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I wrote this poem last year in the midst of a horrible and confusing time, ready even then to let spring steady my feet and expand my heart. Time has a way....

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If this happens to be a good time for your own rejunvenation or rebirth, you could not be more welcomed here!

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Love

kj