No matter how you grasp
the fork, how sharp you’ve made
the blade, life slices
clean and thin, and sets
pleasantly upon the tongue.
It doesn’t matter that rising
prices, wars that threaten
to spill over boundaries,
or ideologies have split
nations, neighbors and kin.
No matter that I dreamt,
frantic in my work clothes,
the containered space,
wrestling with urgent
emails, voicemails, texts….
A pair of Great Blues
strolling through the lifting
fog remind that off days follow
the week, holidays carry
necessary demands of rest.
The rising sun reflecting
paints pond-surface ripples
over my head on the bedroom
ceiling, a backbeat rhythm
for the new day born in light..
No matter that it’s Sunday.
No matter that Monday
is peering around the corner.
Hot tea is in the offing,
breakfast on the back porch –
cereal, yogurt and blueberries.
You will be there and love
will abide no matter
what comes.
* * *
A poem that grew out of Gwarlingo’s The Sunday Poem “Invitation for Writing & Reflection.” Thank you, James Crews for the jumpstart!
Life in Portofino 