April 14, 1995
greg kosmicki
In two days I'll be 45 and bees
are returning
to the little purple flowers
on the weeds in the front lawn,
there is a long slow unwinding
of the day, a certain darkness
in the coming of the setting sun
Debbie in the lawn chair
changed into after-work clothes
it's Thursday, we're both
beat, reeling from or jobs and age
laying around on the front steps
in the first sweet soft day of Spring
this year. The elms across the way
up the hill behind the row of houses
are greening slightly
last night's rain brought green
to the lawns,
Briana's playing in mud
and water, Audrey's
crashed out on the couch
Mark away this evening
at his job
(already the long slow process
begins with him)
while less than a couple weeks ago
it seems he started
on that paper route
and exactly two weeks before that
he was born.
Amazing how we've crammed so much
into these few short weeks
and still we find time for sitting
outside in the fullness of the air.
It's like we're the nougat
in a candy bar.
We talk of Tahiti
where Debbie wants to visit
then decide no let's go get a job there.
I can't imagine Tahiti
after the ten millionth tourist
as being any different than an airport
men's room with exotic plants.
I'm thinking I'd rather stay here.
I say let's buy this house.
She says are you crazy?
Think of all the things it needs done.
But it would be ours I say.
Besides I'll be 60 years old
when Briana graduates
high school.
I'd like to teach the last 20 years.
You can teach now.
But I mean poetry.
You can teach poetry in prison.
She gets up, and dreamlike
we begin to collect trash
blown up or abandoned
in our yard from Winter.
I roll two tires
someone threw in our grassed alleyway
over to give to our neighbor
who may be able to use them.
We pick up stuff in the backyard.
Briana almost dislodges the cement bird bath
form its pedestal
onto herself.
We caution her on safety.
I talk about chopping back these weedy bushes
that line the fence and block the gate.
We plot where we will put the garden
like two pirates figuring where
to bury treasure.
I break off the several sticks
from last Summer's giant sunflowers
and by the mower shed
discover on the pear tree one orange blossom.
