photoart: ralph murre
by Jeanie Tomasko
Now is a worn street on the east
side of town, now is
its sidewalk, its cracks
its dogs and women walking. Now is
its talking yard to yard, its front
porches, yawn-faced cats.
Now is a day of luscious light,
the Sunday night of it,
fifth day into summer,
the fried-chicken-potato-salad of it,
the friends, the table’s easy
laughter. Now is how
a body returns from darkness, how
a heart, how a thought,
now is how to say given.
And this, the simplest grace: a wood floor
shining with given, the garden
Every blade of grass is green with it.
Now is a plate heaped high
with it, and now,
now is the whole blue onrushing world.
~ first published in The Midwest Quarterly