I used to stand in our galley kitchen, feet planted in tadasana,
peeling the tough skin from grapes and cutting the pulp into quarters,
and I marveled at my blessings.
Today I stand in the same kitchen,
haphazardly in tadasana,
while the babe pops in
from the yard with
dandelions and clover
for my vase,
and then again
“I love you,”
how a boy
When we drive
our repetitive routes through town,
my littlest shares her thoughts,
“When I see far-away
I think of Grandma
and is that Grandma’s house…?”
I look over the pavement,
the fields, to the conifer-covered hills
and think, I am on a hill far away, too.
Glowing in the moonlight,
hollowing, their bulk shriveling
in the melting temperatures,
their now blank faces staring
into nothing, hats sinking,
scarves sagging, skinny necks
and empty shoulders speak of scarcity.
Now their stickarms point downward from their bellies.
Collecting in the sunlight,
sparkling, shrouds of fresh snow
in the freezing temperatures,
their ice bones take on a ghostly radiance
and we see through them from one side
to the other, without eyes,
without nose, without mouth,
their undistractedness speaks of focus.
Now the blank face of winter points to abundance.