Grace
Sometimes I forget to put coffee grounds
in the moka pot.
Water brews itself
without a hint of murkiness.
I make myself drink
the clear hot water.
Sometimes I don’t put
a cup under the spout
of the Nespresso machine.
The murky brew pours onto the
table. I force myself
to lick the table.
Sometimes I crack an egg,
trash yolk and white,
and throw the shells
in the frying pan.
I force myself to eat
fried shells.
The things I can’t control
will not stop.
I may never stop
the ones I can.
Unrooting
For Jane Kenyon
She bathed herself in light
and then it came for her
a few years later.
Before her time, but
that was her time.
What else is there once
you soak in that? Pores
saturated.
Why was her path to it
so rugged the second time around?
Why didn’t the light snip her out
like she did to her white roses?
Why did it have to pull
and pull and ravage
her roots?