Serenity

This morning at 2,
while a wet snow
formed heavy burdens
and the things I cannot digest
boiled bile to a froth,
I awoke

choking

words.

At the day then, the smaller tasks —
always most productive —
seemed best acceptance:

wash the dishes,

feed the cat,

water the plants.

A domestic meditation
designed to sooth while
outside, that snow
threatened to break things.

And so small me
in a small effort
(it felt)
changed what I could —
donned coat and boots
and in the quiet dark
brushed snow from branches
of a dogwood set to bloom.

If not wisdom, I suppose,
one at least
can hope for flowers.

Photo and poem ©2019, Jen Payne

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