The Gifted Kitchen
Watching my husband and his brother
struggle the 2015-sized refrigerator
through the 1902-sized doors,
I hear this song:
“Works for everything that’s handed to her,
never once complained.”
Maybe the song is about us.
Except at the moment it’s just the guys doing the work
while I think about how we seem to get ourselves
into predicaments a lot.
This time there was a solution:
unbolt all the doors and
lay them on the couch, the chair, the rug,
and lean them up against the counter
and the house itself.
It fit, just barely, and took it’s place in our kitchen.
There is also a dishwasher, which was also given,
but which was also a piece of work
with a pipe cleaner and a dental pick.
And the faucet, which turned out to need a part
that could be found nowhere in town
but could be fabricated,
by Ryan, at the end of a long day,
out of a paperclip.
Everything in our kitchen, a gift.
The mixer: free for the fixer;
the blender: just bring it to Bogotá and back;
the hot water: works for the one who works for it;
the staircase: finders keepers;
the stove: came with the house and apparently a mouse;
the stuff: a small prize for getting rid of lots of other stuff.
I look out the window and there’s the pile of pavers,
which we would have paid for with sweat,
except that it was too cold for that on the rainy autumn day
we dug them
literally
out of the dump.
“Works for everything that’s handed to her,
never once complained.”
I’ve complained a time or two,
but not about the working
or the things handed to me,
but maybe about how life goes too fast
and it’s often hard to have supper on time
and hard to get to bed on time.
But I’m thinking,
maybe I should just say thank you.
Earlier Than Expected
Pears so ripe I eat them in the bathtub.
Shoulders ready for a nice, long back rub.
In my race against the clock I’m bested,
except today– earlier than expected.
Week
Seven is the number of completion.
One week left: completely incomplete.
But when I am through I will be finished
because I just have strength for one small week.
Rented
I don’t own my thoughts.
They all are just rented.
Some day I’ll invent something
that hasn’t been invented.
Sidewalks
The sun went away,
and so did the warmth
and the smell of spring in the air.
But what I miss most
is seeing my neighbors
out on the sidewalks we share.
The Things We Ask About
They always asked, “Is he growing?”
and “Is he sleeping well?”
until he evidently was.
And then no one ever asked,
“Are you, by chance,
giving your baby steroids
and sleeping pills
just so we’ll stop
asking?”
No, no one ever asked that.
Purpose
Is there a small place of bliss between busy and bored?
Or do they overlap?
Find your purpose
to push them apart.
Maybe that is your purpose.
Just Right
Wake up now,
or keep on sleeping
all through the night.
Eat enough.
Don’t ruin supper.
So much we must get right.
Feed
Since I got this smarter phone,
I have less time to read,
unless, of course, I count my time
spent reading through my feed.
They call it that, don’t you know,
because it eats your brain.
You are feeding your feed now.
I bet you can’t refrain.
After This
After this, I’ll either have more to do
or something big to cross off my list.
I’m going to an interview.
I think I’m ready for this.