By Meena Alexander
The periodic pleasure
of small happenings
is upon us—
behind the stalls
at the farmer’s market
snow glinting in heaps,
a cardinal its chest
puffed out, bloodshod
above the piles of awnings,
passion’s proclivities;
you picking up a sweet potato
turning to me ‘This too?’—
query of tenderness
under the blown red wing.
Remember the brazen world?
Let’s find a room
with a window onto elms
strung with sunlight,
a cafe with polished cups,
darling coffee they call it,
may our bed be stoked
with fresh cut rosemary
and glinting thyme,
all herbs in due season
tucked under wild sheets:
fit for the conjugation of joy.
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Alice had an appointment in Bethesda in the morning and asked whether I'd mind watching her son, so while she was busy, he and I went to three Zapdos raids and wound up meeting her at the mall, where he required McDonalds French fries and Alice and I ended up grabbing Indian food. In other news, I am officially a failure at Pokemon Sorry!
It was late afternoon by the time Alice left, so I spent the rest of the day catching up on chores and making it up to the cats for having been pesked for so long. Adam worked late, so we had ravioli for dinner in front of the television while watching the Nationals game and the final episode of Still Star-Crossed, which is still terrible but weirdly fun!
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