Everywhere I look
the day tries to get my attention
a bright square of morning light
a silhouette of cup and vase
bounces off the kitchen cupboard
a streak of light
lines a chair and corners the table
highlighting the contents of a cut crystal vase
light glowing from every window
screaming to get in
to wake me from my sleep
a beam of light throws itself
across the floor with intent
abrupt then fades in attitude
the kitchen, beautiful with life
walls and ceiling surfaced with patinated wood
nothing buckled or splintered from age
if we could only access its memory
turn the tape back with our fingers
and play the days again
topics of conversation would consist of
inches of rain or evening frost
schedule for seeding and field rotation
everyone having a job to fulfill
feeding chickens, milking the cows
or delighting in the birth of a new calf
politics would not be a circus act
perhaps the walls are speaking
giving their opinions
technology has taken the lead
no one can say its totally wrong
perhaps just perhaps, we have grown blinders
tunnel vision for progress
such a rush to inhabit other worlds
while we disregard and disrespect
the world we have been given
the imperious attitude travels much quicker
monstrous companies rape the earth
then stand on pedestals
dropping pennies to the poor with one hand
while they rub their fat bellies with the other
this house of which I am so privileged to sit
built long ago, of and for a family
it stands tall, straight and proud
built as a home for generations past and future
kitchen of seven doors and two windows
if only they could speak
these walls hold thoughts and time
they grew alive and still they breath
two roosters calling
their voices can be heard through the walls
wanting the gates to be opened
grains and water to be served
joy rushes through my veins
for their call will make me walk
out across the yard and witness
another sky saying good morning to the sun
and goodnight to the fading moon
june 9 2018
Widowed Without A Manual 