In the Midst of Dailiness


A lizard slips out of the crack beneath the door-frame
quick as lightening, then slithers
around the corner. Yet another one
pokes his head above the step
for a split second. What are they telling me
this Saturday before Easter? Pay attention
to what is all around you; the winged seeds
floating by at eye level, the woodpecker
typing out his sermon, thread of light
swaying from the spider, each one of them
so easily crushed. Pay attention to the house
across the street where trucks gather
from out of state, and behind closed doors,
a war chant rises in the name of Jesus. History
is flaming around you as you drive to the supermarket,
and double-tongued words are rampant
while you are shredding carrots for dinner,
and when you close your book and turn off the lights,
remember this is the time the planes
come home from war zones with coffins
that cannot be photographed.