Learning Life in Pieces
Hanging branchlets. A few cones.
It’s a weeping spruce I learn.
A dogwood petal drops into my lap, brown.
The witch hazel leaves also browning.
Is this the beginning of blight?
A Carolina Wren sits on the side
of a flat-raised bed, flies away.
A plane overhead, flies away.
I want to relearn the world, begin
with common bird calls.
Experts describe the Carolina Wren song as
tea kettle, tea kettle, tea kettle.
I learn he has at least thirty tunes—
me too, me too, me too.
We never moved to the mountains.
Rock-solid soil, your dwelling now.
I am relearning the world, its secret beauty.
Not so secret
Lifted by helicopter. Received by waiting
surgeon. This is my heart, melting ice.
These are the arteries pristine as new ice.
It is the muscle that is tired. Weakened old
woman needed to stop. These are the pills
I’ll take twice a day. These are the pills
that might rebuild my muscle, restart
the blood’s travel around the sun.
Today a young neighbor wrote her first poem.
I told her to select words and write anything,
not to think. Why does this matter?
She picked magic and despair.
me too me too me too