Sunday, December 16, 2007

Penelope Shuttle


A jug of water
has its own lustrous turmoil

The ironing board thanks god
for its two good strong legs and sturdy back

The new fridge hums like a maniac
with helpfulness

I am trying to love the world
back to normal

The chair recites its stand-alone prayer
again and again

The table leaves no stone unturned
The clock votes for the separate burial of hearts

I am trying to love the world
and all its 8,000 identifiable languages

With the forgetfulness of a potter
I’m trying to get the seas back on the maps
where they belong

secured to their rivers

The kettle alone knows the good he does,
Here in the kitchen, loving the world,
Steadfastly loving

See how easy it is, he whistles


Glamourpuss said...

August, dear one, you seem to have the most uncanny knack of posting poems that speak to me of the way I am feeling at the very moment that I read them.

On such a bleak morning, this resonates wildly.

Thank you.


August said...

Puss, how odd.

As I was reading this poem today I kept thinking of you. To the degree I no longer understood what I was reading.


Glad you liked the poem.