ordinary things

the squirrel leaps
on the pole aiming
for sunflower seeds
the poll’s been greased
he slips a third time
back to the ground
matter of fact
he sifts for seeds
on the dirt instead
oh! her tenderness for
ordinary things

the old moon waits
in an early morning sky
quiet is on the land
these are her days
squirrel, nuthatch, sparrow
chitter in the firethorn
doves cluster on the ground
occasional fox and deer
the screeching hawks
elegant and precise
they must eat as well—
our earthly family, will we
find our way in time?

if not, so be it
the awareness that
rests behind and in and of
will be the vessel
for what comes next—
in the meantime
can we be tender
with ordinary things?

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.