Sunday Poems 32: Soil above the earth

I spent most of the day putting plants into pots. The balcony has been mostly unadorned, and now it features a garden. Not really knowing what I’m doing made it a slow process but I got through it. I was listening to podcasts and then my phone died and I played with plants for four hours listening to the world around. It was nice. As I am writing this, it is evening and I feel relaxed. I spent a lot of time drinking my coffee this morning. This sort of start to the day is often a predictor for the pace of the day that will follow. I was reading, but in the sort of way where most of the time my eyes are focused away from the book, because there’s some bird in the tree, or because I noticed a particularly good shadow. I find this is often the measure of a good book: how often my eyes leave the page to reflect.

Sundays are for looking at a book of photographs left in your living room by a generous friend who has been having a hard go of it. You feel guilty for not having looking at it sooner. One photograph is of the photographer’s partner looking at the camera while leaning against an old barn. They are balanced on one foot while the other is crossed over the front with the sole of their sandal just visible. It looks like a vacation photo from a vacation which has gone on too long. You flip the page. The next photo is of a merry go round. You tell your friend that you liked the book of photographs very much. Below is a poem. Maybe you’d like to share it with a friend who would like to feel a little better. As always, I’m here if you need to talk. Have a great week everybody.


clay and gravel

all day on the internet
another sun in front of you

rubbing alcohol applied to every surface

washing the same bowl
for the same soup
mostly beans and water

glowing
keyboards
popping keys off

paper towels

maybe the moon
maybe an hour spent
with ivy

exquisite

office supplies
throwing the recycling

down the stairs

resisting temptation

calculating sleep

water bottle

two cats running
on the lawn


Originally published on May 15, 2016.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
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