Earth Day 2018

Because it feels like the world is

Spinning either crazy-ass fast,

Or in a wobbling way,

as if it could abandon the sun,

And leave this neighborhood atmosphere,

Drawn by some grass, so chloro-full, it fairly glows,


Because it feels like that,

I find myself taking unusual pleasure every time

I go outside

And pick up sticks camouflaged by dried leaves

Leaves I intended to rake,

Rake before the winter,

Winter, which lasted.

Until yesterday.


On days like today, when Spring shows up,

And shoots break through,

And sun clicks on,

I am drawn to the sticks in my yard

Like a drummer, long-silenced,

happening upon a room,

where sticks, and surface, and soul

slump in a corner,

hungry for use.


I pick each one up, these sticks, only snapping them in two if one

Tries to compete with my height,

Which I seem to remember hearing is equal

to the breadth of my outstretched arms.


When I deem I have enough,

I walk down the hill to the place that I collect

the sticks that I gather.

And then ascend.

And do it again.


In this repetitive, methodical activity,

Which requires so little brain,

And so much breath,

I feel the Spirit of the Living God,




Like an invisible dancer,

luring me into the sway.


There’s an order to things

Even in chaos.


It is another day of creation.

And it is good.