A Short Discourse on After the Storm

Last night, winds lashed the slender-branched
bough, toppled it across the black asphalt
of the bike trail, mangled the birthing knot
from its mother tree, severed memory
of buds, leaflets, full leaves, dropped walnuts,
some in early green husks, others later, ripe
in dark nutcovers, surrounded by groundling
touch-me, touch-me-nots, now avoided
by bikes and walkers but not a dog on today’s
adventure that knows this downward limb
will rot and stink soon, vapors of seduction
only the lucky-nosed can detect –– smashed
blue eggs or broken, naked baby birds,
all scattered on crushed blackberry bushes
and feral cat leavings –– ready to spoil,
to roll in, to lick, to eat, to bring
on the canine look of nirvana before a call
and a whistle urge you to move
on, to please the one who brought you here,
to show her you love her as much as garbage.

 –Rita Coleman

My Common Life

Inspired by W.S. Merwin

Thank you, my common life,
this season of advance time,
when words claim me in sweet
afternoons, when I listen
at the window, look
out into the deep pine forest.

Thank you for the good man who
came when I was ready, spice
and balm these many days,
for smooth voices of friends,
for good dogs who found me,
for a life greater than expected.

Thank you for pastel canyons,
cloud-draped skayscrapers,
for the roll of a big ship, white
sands stretched along a curve
of earth, all of these sights mine
to keep in this life of travel and stops.

Thank for mangled metal,
going broke, turned backs,
closed caskets, for the forward
trudge from black holes deep
enough to suck me in, always
within view, to survive so many.

Thank you for sturdy legs,
one good hand, one good
eye, for this string of bones
held together by nature
and will, long enough to reap
the harvest of this common life.

–Rita Coleman