#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Morning Brook

"At the bad time, nothing betrays outwardly the harsh findings,
The studies and hospital records. Carols play.

Sitting upright in the transit system, the widow-like women
Wait, hands folded in their laps, as monumental as bread.

In the shopping center lots, lights mounted on cold standards
Tower and stir, condensing the blue vapour. . .

. . . How low and still the people lie, some awake, holding the carols
Consciously at bay, Oh Little Town, enveloped in unease."
- Excerpt from Robert Pinsky, December Blues

The sun rose at 7:01 today, and set at 4:11 p.m. A shortage of light in these hours. I walked very slowly on the crunch of snow to the river, to the brook. Under the ice of the brook the leaves offer muted color. I’m color starved on this low light day. I thank the brook for looking colorful today. I start a new poem today. Is it a new poem? Not yet. I felt a bit irritable all day. The grumble of thinking I won’t get a poem. Anyway, I do like the feeling I feel as I’m seeing if this is a poem. I listen to what I get. I keep an open mind. In the late afternoon I drive to the market for something for dinner and it’s night-dark and cold. I feel the grumble of irritability, but there’s nothing wrong, except, I finally realize, it’s the light, the lack of it, the not enough of it. The not of it. I unpack the groceries. It’s not just me. A daughter, upstairs, is in a sudden, unusual gloom. Strangely, this jars me into hope. I think: she is hungry. I will feed her. Swiftly, I open one can of corn, one can of black beans. I spray a baking sheet, turn on the oven, chop a yellow onion, grate a cheddar cheese. I slice, hoping they’re ripe, two soft avocados and scoop the true green meat of them into a bowl, pepper, salt, and lemon. A dash of chili pepper. The fresh tortilla chips I just bought: I spread on the sheet. I want to cheer her up in the dark. I cover them with the corn and beans, the grated cheddar, some drops of salsa. Quickly, they melt and brown and the avocado mashes brilliantly––the bright green light of it. Everything on the tray to be carried upstairs, an offering. Cure of my own.