Busy

My head's not in the ground, but I have to live. I have to show that a peaceful life is possible, that resistance can mean living well and joyful. Staying busy does not mean staying blind.

Busy


30 and I think
I stepped on a crack, 
The Crack,
the powerful one they warn you about.
I think I broke winter’s back when we bought a snowblower;
it warded the driveway—
no more snow that year.
But this summer of swamp,
in and only in The House, if not out
swimming with a sort of chop
through the air—
But autumn, 
oh, crisp season, you have brought the gift of errands I am not bothered by: 
a list, a sweater, not one bit
I could describe, in keeping with the season,
to a trendy cynicism, to a self-protective
not taking care of
by not take care, not giving a shit
not giving in-
-to hope

and in a world on fire
or on the third set of sent plagues,
I am thankful—
I’m lucky to strike any chord of being
out in the world
with things to do.