Various and Sundry Poetry

tidbits from home

it's not so much that the new house
feels like i've arrived somewhere.
it just that i can more clearly
see where i'm going.

a neighbor down the street
delivered fresh quince from the tree
in her front yard. i wanted to cry.
how is it that i had stopped believing
in such simple kindness?

even the dog has calmed down.
at night, he buries himself in the couch,
bookended by pillows. i wonder if he's
as relieved as he looks.

there's an island in the kitchen graced
by a bowl of fruit. last night, a loaf of bread
and a small dish of olive oil heralded our supper.
Simple, simple.

winter is so close, but i'm stubborn.
1 o'clock in the morning, and i'm thinking
of guitar lessons, and whether i'll ever learn
to hang glide, and how much paprika to put
in the stuffed peppers for friday. i'm not ready
to call it quits just yet.

Beverly says the apricot tree in the back
is merely taking a breather this year.
it looks like a relic of its former glory,
ready to be made into kindling if you ask me,
but i'm willing to wait, just in case.

the bulletin board thumbtacked with
reminders from the therapist to
"receive, listen and focus."
she told us that love is a
foundation of constant surrender
and refuge.

this morning, i almost said,
"I don't believe in deep breathing."
then i thought about the bulletin board.

there are people i would like to invite
to my living room, and i guess, in my own way,
i do, even if they don't live anywhere near me.

a green pad of paper with my name on it.
deposit checks, it says. vehicle registration.
washer and dryer. insurance renewal.
not two years ago i would have railed against
such domestic checklists. now i am seduced
by the power of crossing things out, returning
the phone call, clearing the dishwasher to make way
for the next round. it's not a bad science.
less talk, more action.