Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo

Lenten Jar

Our Lenten jar is a sparkling vase.
It sits empty Ash Wednesday morning
in the center of the table, waiting

to be filled. The kids aren’t sure
we can do it: by Holy Saturday
foil-wrapped bits of chocolate rise

above the rim, waiting
to be hidden, found, unwrapped, enjoyed:
a testament to the good works of everyone in the house.

baby feet

How can two feet be loved this much?
They make me weak, those feet.
The tops are smooth like rock centuries under the falls.
The bottoms, soft, ripe pears.
I love to play peek-a-boo with them over my eyes,
to hold them, squeeze them, count the toes!

He still plays with them and chews on them.
Now he stands on them and walks
around the house looking for trouble.
He sits down and puts his head on the floor between them
when he’s mad.

Oh, summer come quickly,
that we may cover those feet with kisses
instead of shoes!

Daily Work

Perfection tells me I can get ahead –
I can keep the kitchen crumbless and sparkling,
the food prepped,
the glass refilled,
the diaper dry,
the laundry washed,
dried,
folded,
stacked,
shelved,
or hung.

The infant tells me time is running out –
the invisible clock hovers
above my head always
ticking
the seconds
from 10 to 0
when the baby will cry
and everything will be left undone,
so all work
is frantic and maddening.

The Spirit tells me perfection is imperfect
if it causes all this grief. It is better
to go about one’s work with contentment
rather than fear. Even the monks
have daily tasks to complete – sweeping,
baking, cooking, cleaning, washing, and tending every day.
And so my work is the same;

I cannot feed tomorrow’s breakfast this evening.
I cannot give tomorrow’s bath today.
I cannot read our bed-time story this afternoon
nor sweep up the day’s mess this morning.

But I can take each moment as it comes to me,
embrace life’s disorder,
give thanks for the constant opportunity to love.