touchstone

note to self

in the presence
of a fresh breath,
today, amidst strife,
news so disturbing
I cannot watch
but know about anyway,
it trickles in the back door—
Ukraine’s destruction,
rolled back freedoms,
climate misery,
election madness—
still
joy flushes through
how can that be?
how can it not be?

wonder doesn’t arise from
this world—it seeps in
from the big field,
a welcome touchstone—
surprises, delights for
an instant or a day
the blessing of a passionflower,
their five-fingered hearts
begging bees, jasmine climbing
the arch in our front yard
fragrance scenting the air
fresh potatoes unearthed
soil clinging—a bounty
thirty-nine pounds!
carrots, too, their
salmon selves slipping
from their bed.
soak in this joy

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.