Day Ten: In Verse

Just to change things up, I'm going to write about today in poem-form. Let's see how this goes.

Rising in the dark,
tea black, screen glowing
children sleeping.
Focused time to do the things
that earn the money that buy
the cans of beans
and electricity.
The farmer rises next
and leaves the house with a kiss
while my fingers fly
on the keyboard.
Birds sing. Sky lightens.
First son, then daughter wake.
First one, then the other
thud down wooden stairs
for hugs and food, with stories
of their dreams.
Breakfast then let the games
begin. I try to keep working
but interruptions alter
the flow like rocks in a stream.
Time to fold the work away,
turn off the bright screen,
turn to the bright faces
looking at me. It is another
sunny day and we take it.
The farmer returns to hugs
that come up to his belt.
He has a job the kids can help with:
driving to town for a trailer load
of free mulch. So excited,
they get themselves dressed
without a single hurry up.
The party leaves the house.
I stay.
I open my computer again
and work, sending notes
to people far away, planning,
researching, helping farmers
all over the country with questions.
Not with all their questions,
just the easy ones like,
how much hay, how much lime,
what variety of tree?
Not why do we keep going?
Not, why work so hard for so little?
Not, how do you keep your heart
from failing?
When the party rumbles back
it is with a truck-bed full of straw
and a trailer full of wood chips.
Hot pupusas made
with blue corn masa and cheese
greet them, slices of orange
glowing bright on the side,
and are eaten happily.
Dishes pile in the sink
so quickly on sunny days.
Taiya and William in the sun
find fun in all of it. The wood chips
are confetti. The straw
becomes a house.
Blankets and pillows are dragged
from inside and spread
in the warm sun over scratchy straw.
Their stuffed animals are out,
their imaginations flow
like a chirruping stream
over smooth rocks.
We're all out in the sun now.
I'm preparing a place to plant potatoes.
The farmer struggles
with the dump trailer motor, finding
ways to work around work arounds,
cursing so the kids can't hear.
The sun glares on all the spring flowers.
Forsythia hurts to look at. Spirea
bounces the sunlight back into the world
with its bright white petals. More confetti.
The children and I cheer
as the dump trailer finally slides
the mountain of mulch onto the ground

in one easy motion.
We unload the straw bales
and thus begins a new whirlwind
of play. A tent is made
of sheets and clothespins
and an obliging cedar.
But play can't keep on forever
on a farm, animals need feeding.
We load up and go to the puppies,
pigs, goats, cows. They're all
where they're supposed to be
today, thank goodness. The sun shines
from the west as the puppies romp
and tug at pant legs. The goats
run into their pen for the night
for pellets and alfalfa hay.
Bonnie and her new baby are not hiding
and we are not seeking,
just rubbing puppy bellies
and scratching dog ears,
watching baby goats leap and twist.
Chores done, we roll home
to make salmon cakes with garbanzo flour.
Small hands mold the fish
and flour into disks I fry til golden.
The air fills with the smell
of simmering rice, fish,
and sweaty, dirty bodies.
Hungry children eat it all up
as quick as I can make it.
Bellies full, it's time to bathe.
On the porch, we fill two metal tubs
with warm water and bubbles.
The little ones sink into the warmth,
dirt dissolving. All is quiet for a while
as I sit in the rocker and they soak
and play with the bubbles
in the late-day light. No one talks much,
we're all meditating on water,
bubbles, light. I rock slowly, sipping
a cold drink, letting my body tip
forward and back in the black chair.
The worries of the world hang
like a neighbor's drying laundry,
within view but without coming
into our own sunny yard
yet. Spain is storing bodies in ice rinks,
funerals are forbidden.
But my children know none of this,
just that when they lift their hands
slowly out of the bubbly water
a film of rainbow rises up
with their hands, and if they arch their hands
back down, they can make their own
hemispheres reflecting light.