Poem for Monday

Hardware Sparrows
By R. T. Smith

Out for a deadbolt, light bulbs
and two-by-fours, I find a flock
of sparrows safe from hawks

and weather under the roof
of Lowe's amazing discount
store. They skitter from the racks

of stockpiled posts and hoses
to a spill of winter birdseed
on the concrete floor. How

they know to forage here,
I can't guess, but the automatic
door is close enough,

and we've had a week
of storms. They are, after all,
ubiquitous, though poor,

their only song an irritating
noise, and yet they soar
to offer, amid hardware, rope

and handyman brochures,
some relief, as if a flurry
of notes from Mozart swirled

from seed to ceiling, entreating
us to set aside our evening
chores and take grace where

we find it, saying it is possible,
even in this month of flood,
blackout and frustration,

to float once more on sheer
survival and the shadowy
bliss we exist to explore.

--------


A poem found by typing "after the storm" into the search engine at the Academy of American Poets, so stunningly appropriate that for the tenth or eleventh time since last Thursday I am wondering whether someone is trying to tell me something.

My computer still will not boot into safe mode but has decided for reasons unknown to me to allow me to run Roxio Easy CD Creator. I am thus, very very slowly, recovering my own data. It is amazing how, in the face of a cataclysmic disaster, things merely being slow and frustrating and chaotic seems like an utter blessing. I am sure THAT was the lesson of yesterday...

Thank you all very, very much for all the good wishes. I am certain that the vibes helped. Real notes later; if you sent me e-mail before the storm, odds are good that I will lose it, and if you sent me anything for beta, please send again.