these mornings of rain (subtitled: homestead #1)

this is my new humble abode, complete with whitey the dog and a swing in the yard. the clinching factor in moving down the mountain from mt. hermon was the ability to play music in every room in the house. that way, when you're getting ready in the morning, you can keep singing along from the shower to the kitchen while making coffee. spiffy. i spent many-a-cozy-monsoon-morning cuddled on my floral couch during my latest bout of bacterial-typhoidal sickness.
and it's true. i do need it all.

these mornings of rain
when the house is cozy
and the phone doesn’t ring
and i am alone
though snug
in my daughter’s
fire-red robe

these mornings of rain
when my lover’s large socks
cushion my chilly feet
and meditation
has made me one
with the pine tree
outside my door


these mornings of rain
when all noises coming
from the street
have a slippery sound
and the wind whistles
and i have had my cup
of green tea


these mornings
in fall
when i have slept late
and dreamed
of people i like
in places where we’re
obviously on vacation

these mornings
i do not need
my beloveds’ arms about me
until much later
in the day.
i do not need food
i do not need the postperson
i do not need my best friend
to call me
with the latest
on the invasion of grenada
and her life

i do not need anything.

to be warm, to be dry,
to be writing poems again
(after months of distraction
and emptiness!),
to love and be loved
in absentia
is joy enough for me.

on these blustery mornings
in a city
that could be wet
from my kisses
i need nothing else.

and then again,
i need it all.

(ALICE WALKER, of course.)


i would include more photos, but the internet is being fickle. imagine a bookshelf with lots of books, a doorway with a double-door arch and light emanating through the windows and a kitchen with a basketful of mangoes and apples and a stash of red wine.