Eating corn on the cob at the computer

I find myself eating corn on the cob at the computer. Creating a blog, finally, doesn't seem as ridiculous. Sometimes finding the sight of yourself silly is just humbling enough to motivate you to be more than what you currently are (or what you eat). Following my own fear's lead, below is a bit of what I wrote this morning during the babe's nap. About spring, wanting to make it all better ( a mother's bff ) for your children, the world, the garden, and even the renegade june bug.

Not so tall, a matter of five feet and some inches

from the nubs of the carpet, the fingers of the grass.

From the 'you should look them in the eyes' when you're serious.

I should lay there, be there.

Want to cut my hair all off for the garden to keep the rabbits away,

or let it float black blacker in the gulf to soak up the spill.

Laying there on waves, little tendrils of me doing my best

with what I've got, what I've lost along this way

empty homes and hearts

ache from the walk I made myself take,

maybe too, the wine,

or the whine,

or the care.

Carrying children,

or the trash we made in a week,

if I could all the pages I've ever read or wrote or drew

made from the trees now full fisted green,

beautiful and banal as you are.

Conditioned air exhales from the wall,

and I wish instead for a fan with blades spinning.

But, try to love despite that bad word hate.

While weeding there are church bells, and this makes me feel

old, blessed, pleased. The sermon never did.

Aesthetic.

There is an art to the cable wire disappearing into the plum tree,

to the cricket leg song that keeps me awake,

to the june bug armored in the garage late may.

I scoot him back out so gentle with a corn husk broom

into the light, the crack in the driveway laying legs up helpless,

I always try to help right one up,

but this time I just let it be.