Photo by Grayson Smith on Unsplash

Strange how the feelings reel…
I’m cleaning the stove, and the thought occurs,
Of no more jelly boiled over,
No more burned maple syrup to scrub.

The children are already thinking of the future,
Mention softly that I should think about
Selling the house, too big to manage,
And how can I leave your berry patch where you spent each summer?
And how can I leave these maples, that bear the mark of your gathering?
And how can I clean away these last remnants of your joyous, sloppy cooking?

Yesterday as I made coffee, the raven sat on the post under the honey locust,
I thought it looked at me with a knowing eye.
Today the Pileated woodpecker is flying from tree to tree.
As though looking for something it will not find.
The bird feeders are empty, and I don’t have the energy to fill them,
But knowing how you would feel about that, I will fill them anyway.

November, 2000