Each Sunday I’m going to post a poem I like. Some will be short, some will be long. Some will be old favorites, some will be pieces I just stumbled over accidentally. Some will have famous authors’ names attached, some will be by relative unknowns. A few may have some commentary, if I can’t help myself (mostly of the why this is important to me variety), but pretty much it will be just the poem, speaking for itself.
Today’s arrived in my email, courtesy of Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac.
by Jane Hirshfield
Day after quiet day passes.
I speak to no one besides the dog.
I murmur much I would not otherwise say.
We make plans
then break them on a moment’s whim.
though sometimes bringing
to my attention a small blue ball.
Passing the fig tree
I see it is
suddenly huge with green fruit,
which may ripen or not.
Near the gate,
I stop to watch
the sugar ants climb the top bar
and cross at the latch,
as they have now in summer for years.
In this way I study my life.
I think today,
like a dusty glass vase.
A little water,
a few flowers would be good,
but do nothing. Love is far away.
Incomprehensible sunlight falls on my hand.