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Meanwhile, between Crises
it is necessary to observe
that the sky has been a particular shade of blue
for two days now; and that the Labrador
stinks characteristically of pond water;
and that the sun, ah, yes, the sun, minding
its own business, misses this leaf and
hits that one; and the mind of my elder daughter,
in its quaint intellectual corsets, cheers me as much
as the rest of her (uncorseted);
and pushing, once, up from the grimy sleet
of a Long Island airport, the Whisperjet
broke through the winter ceiling and came out
above it where the sun, minding its own business
as usual, was making alpine landscapes
on the roof in every blinding shade
of white except for white;
and that (although
I myself prefer exuberance)
there is something to be said, perhaps,
for the strict aesthetics of a power failure.
it is necessary to observe
that the sky has been a particular shade of blue
for two days now; and that the Labrador
stinks characteristically of pond water;
and that the sun, ah, yes, the sun, minding
its own business, misses this leaf and
hits that one; and the mind of my elder daughter,
in its quaint intellectual corsets, cheers me as much
as the rest of her (uncorseted);
and pushing, once, up from the grimy sleet
of a Long Island airport, the Whisperjet
broke through the winter ceiling and came out
above it where the sun, minding its own business
as usual, was making alpine landscapes
on the roof in every blinding shade
of white except for white;
and that (although
I myself prefer exuberance)
there is something to be said, perhaps,
for the strict aesthetics of a power failure.
Matins
The cat,
the damn fool cat was the one
I wanted to get shut of –
and it's still around.
Someone else
is gone.
Obviously a mistake.
But you don't make mistakes,
do you, God?
I could have spared the cat.
I could have –
could have done lots of things.
Could have inquired, pressed,
investigated, snooped, done everything
he disliked most.
Instead I listened, waited,
respected, waited, listened,
and, always, respected his space,
his privacy.
Last night was full of bright ideas,
all of them twenty-two days
too late.
The cat,
the damn fool cat was the one
I wanted to get shut of –
and it's still around.
Someone else
is gone.
Obviously a mistake.
But you don't make mistakes,
do you, God?
I could have spared the cat.
I could have –
could have done lots of things.
Could have inquired, pressed,
investigated, snooped, done everything
he disliked most.
Instead I listened, waited,
respected, waited, listened,
and, always, respected his space,
his privacy.
Last night was full of bright ideas,
all of them twenty-two days
too late.
Poetry by Nan Adams