We’ll plan our every move while lying in our beds
and find that we are still taken by storm.
Change will come; it seldom warns,
and we’ll all be left scratching our heads.
Inert
The weeds grew while we were gone.
They knew it was their chance.
And apples started dropping–
those got eaten at by ants.
But the work that we were doing
with the rocks mixed in the dirt,
was still sitting there, very still,
being stubborn and inert.
Back
Once again, we’re back.
Time to rest, unpack,
and tell myself, once again,
not to get too settled in.
In Lieu of Flowers
In lieu of flowers,
plant vegetables,
and then you’ll keep
your table full,
and you’ll still die,
just not as soon,
and we’ll plant flowers
by your tomb.
She Is Sleeping
There she is, so fast asleep.
Her arms are limp, her head sunk deep
upon the sheets. So let us keep
the lights down low. Don’t make a peep.
Just catch your breath and let her sleep.
Peace
When the river is not peaceful
because it’s full and steep
we still trust that the ocean
will catch us, hug us deep,
and give our souls a Sabbath
to ride the waves and sleep.
Different Nations
Dear cousin who I haven’t seen,
we’ve moved up a generation.
We’ve often lived so far apart–
for years in different nations.
But now that you’re a doctor
and now that I’m a mom,
you’d think that one of us had moved
to Greece or Vietnam.
And not because our jobs are different
(although they really are)
but because our lives are both so full.
That’s what makes our nearness far.