A caption could read “What happens when an overtired husband plays with the books on my dresser”.
I need to
Oh, no, first I should
But if I’m not
No one else can
Everyone counts on me
Did I forget to
I hate to, but if I don’t
If I don’t, who will?
I haven’t had a chance
I’ll do it myself, just as soon as
Don’t worry, I’ll get to it
We teachers take on so much,
We forget that we take it on voluntarily
And we forget it’s okay to say no.
We caretakers and quiet leaders need care, too.
It’s time we put ourselves first – and mean it.
Two tiny pieces
Little treasure chests built of sugar and cocoa, storing creamy caramel or peanut butter.
In their shiny pink and purple wrapping
Fit perfectly in the cozy cubbyhole beneath my car’s radio.
Sharing their intimate space with extra sunglasses, they wait patiently.
For the day they’ll be needed
When their sweet aroma
And savory filling
Will satisfy Mom or Dad or child or teen
Traveling a long distance
Or running errands until dinner time is past.
How long will these little treasures last?
They will provide pleasure far behond
What their diminutive size might suggest.
an elemental poem
Dripping, collecting, pooling
Who owns this water?
The people who pump it into their swimming pool, clean it with cholrine, and swim in it to ease the stress of daily living?
Mr. and Mrs. Mallard who are looking for a place to live?
Those who harness its power for the industries that give us jobs and products to purchase with our pay?
Those who live near it, on it, and in it?
Or those who pum it through miles of desert pipeline to reach their homes?
Those who sail on it?
The companies who bottle it to sell in stores, Or the people who pay for the bottles?
Of all the water on Earth
Those who drink from it
Those who bathe in it
Those who use it, treat it, Return it to its source
All use, and therefore share, ownership and responsibility for this precious resource.
Piles of snow and ice tenaciously refuse to melt on the north sides of buildings and trees
Fallen branches from the ice storm mock the emerging crocuses
Beauty emerges within the storm’s beastly remains.
Grateful for low tech tools
The fireplace, the printed book, the battery-operated radio
We stay wrapped up in the magic warmth of blanket throws
And wait until the weather warms enough
to deliver tornado season.
Alas, that’s spring.