You prayed for the first time in your life While knelt next to the couch to retrieve The tennis ball your dog shoved under it, And you muttered Jesus Christ! At the dust bunnies underneath.
You meditated on the motion of slicing onions
For your morning omelette
And you cried about either that or about the guilt of missing work.
You biked to the coffee shop, and it made you breathe fast which felt good And you decided to bike a couple miles more.
You stopped by the river bank and discovered symmetry Folding the pastry sleeve in half to turn it into a plate.
You made up the sheets of your bedroom
And surrendered yourself to your mother's truth
Which is that when your space isn't in chaos,
Your life quickly follows suit.
You listened to voicemails that filled your inbox And found one from your dad saying I miss you, call me.
You notice for the first time a new growth on your rubber plant
And you gaze at it in amazement at quiet life:
The life that happens when you are busy and away,
That refuses to stop even if
You are gone.