small corner

I sense the weirdness of time passing

and see how small
my place in the world is.
But this does not make me
feel unimportant.

I am vital to my small corner.

It could not be what it is
without me.

And that corner is plenty.

We would all like things to be simple
but that is not really
what happens here.

At times I would like to write
pages and pages of my sorrow
but I am not sure what else,
what different, I could say.

The grief is still here.
It is unaffected by my efforts.
Its depth varies from day to day,
but it does not leave.

I don’t know what other way to say it.

The doctor speaks to me slowly
so as not to alarm me
the way she would speak
to a scared animal.
I wish I didn’t appear
to require such gentleness.

But I will take what kindness I am given.

I arrive home to a cool house
amidst the early summer heat,
a happy husband marinating the chicken,
cats purring in their sleep,
and flowers in bloom in the front yard.

Who says this isn’t magic.

Habitat

My love returns early
from his work in the woods
so as to not miss
my ovulating.

I try to resist the urge to rush.

It is an odd and unromantic beginning
but we manage to salvage the
the experience.

Later on our walk we spot
two male pheasants
fighting in the tall brush,
wings fluttering as they
jump wildly at each other.
The noises were brutal
and I cringed for them.

You tell me I am lucky
to witness this. That there
are few pheasants left these
days in these parts, and
that we happen to have
the perfect habitat for them.

I am momentarily reminded
by the darkening sky
that exploration is so
important for this
human soul.

And I suppose I am lucky,
as I also benefit from our
perfect habitat, and
I have been witness to
many rare things.

Weeding the Garden

A poet speaks of a dead
daughter, one that she killed
herself because perhaps she was
unprepared or selfish or some
combination of the two.

Then a pregnant scientist
imagines every possible
malady, desiring constant
reassurance and discussion.

And I, being the rock and
good friend that I am,
give it to her.

But when I return home
I cry while weeding
my garden.