I did not look today, did not watch the ducks
clouding the lake, a white cumulus forming
on the surface. I did not notice how the water
stilled, making a mirror for the sky, showing
the shore trees their own reflections: hair fringes
of leaves, tapering arms. I did not glimpse
the cerulean flash of a bluebird dashing
from oak to cedar to maple on its way home,
nor hear the insistent call of cardinal to mate
as day darkened. Sorrow kept me away from the world.
It closed me in with thoughts of lingering viruses
and lost fathers. Pressed in with the sadness
of lonely widows, abandoned dogs, absent daughters.
As the sun lowered, I promised: tomorrow
I would bring my whole self to the world, tomorrow
I would see the sky, hear the birds, smell sun on earth,
listen for the way the wind spoke to the trees,
how it shivered the water on the lake.
About the Poet
Adrienne Pilon is a writer and teacher. She serves as Associate Editor for BoomerLitMag and Poets Reading the News and is published here and there.