At the End of the Day

It is a small victory

to get out of the house

in the evening.

Between feeding ourselves,

washing ourselves,

putting ourselves to bed,

and putting all the shadow

tasks to rest, it is a perhaps

a small victory also

to remain in the house

in the evening.

The Good, The Hard, The Daily

I sit down to write a poem

and find nothing waiting

to be voiced. There is

the liquid purple sunrise

that lingers for me to wake

now that it is fall. And there are

the two sleeping babies

I have just left, one chattering

into the bars of her crib.

There is the tight flutter

in my chest I can’t name.

But all these things are

already being appreciated.

There is a couple waiting

at the crosswalk, who turn

one after the other to point

at the brilliance of the new day.

The faces of the skyscrapers

are glowing gold, for everyone,

even the ones who might prefer to be

heading the other way, home.

We all know the pattern.

I Join the Rest of Americans

Not Just For hipsters.
Or the French.

For the first time,
I feel the urge
to stop for a coffee
before work,
linger over a pastry
on a wooden stool
as the sun comes in.

I don’t drink coffee.

It still sounds like warm,
simple comfort. I am
walking a mile through
our small city, and
I think I am
finally contented.