More than a year ago, I read this post and thought, I should write a poem like that. This week, I finally did. Both Mary Lee's poem and the one she used as a mentor text were about mornings, but I decided to make mine about the evening. Writing it gave me a great sense of well-being, as I kept adding details that all added up to how blessed, cared for, and loved I really am.
Praise be this evening for work ended,
the bare feet, the droning fan,
the smell of soy sauce floating upstairs from the kitchen.
Praise be the doves outside my window,
the dried eucalyptus in the bottle,
the empty mug, my tea already drunk.
Praise be the books on my shelves,
the photos of friends who smile at me benignly,
the fully-charged laptop, playing music I’ve chosen.
Praise be the lizard, scampering across the wall,
digesting bugs that will not trouble me tonight.
Praise be the quiet, the nobody needing anything,
the slight rumbling of my stomach that will soon be quelled,
the peace, and sleep not far off.
I've enjoyed writing daily posts for National Poetry Month this week, highlighting poems from my archives. On Saturday I shared a Jack Spicer poem, on Sunday some William Stafford, on Monday an Elizabeth Bishop poem on travel, on Tuesday Wislawa Szymborska's poem "The Joy of Writing," on Wednesday three poems about motherhood, and on Thursday, Shakespeare's Sonnet XXIX.
Irene is hosting the Progressive Poem and the roundup today.
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