Always

The destitute you will have with you.

Always.  Well thanks a lot God for that.

I can never wholly enjoy a thing.  I love

my paved streets and well-stocked

library, my favorite shirts and my four

or five pairs of shoes.  How can I ask You

for the slightest thing without remembering

the poor, the sick, the shut in?  My

prayers must sound like the feeble

whinings of the wealthy

compared to those that have less.

My health is a constant reminder to me

that some pass more painfully on this earth

than others.  My heart that loves and empathizes

beats with sadness admidst the joy of living

and I cannot stop dancing to that syncopated beat.  My

life passes with an apathy to gladness.  Being mindful

of others is not a good thing for people like me, 

if  there are people like me.

She

She left by the back door-
no one heard her go,
no squeak from the hinge, that tattle tale,
to name her exit route.
No one pled, scolded or called out
no one bade her go with scorn,
darkness tucked her under wing
then suddenly it was morning.

She had unloosed herself,
by degrees pried her lonely fingers
open. She half expected,
to feel inside that slipping grip,
the flutter of meaningful things
escaping, but only she stirred
down to ashes the embers while
her family cozied to disaster.

Robin

First the breast comes to mind,
that red vest between the brown lapels.
Sturdy bird on twig thin legs,
it seems a brisk wind could topple you.
I've never seen a bird upset, little stick legs
skyward. There you are, little
rotund friend with a sweet song
that sends me back
to grade school days, where I watched
your southern cousins listen
cock-headed groundward with unblinking
eyes. Through sun-washed windows,
the teacher droned on about spring
while we good little children budded
inside, like the trees pink with promise.
Somewhere up north the snow was melting,
eaves dripped with ice tears
but we had flowers all year round
and my heaviest coat was a sweater.