Hats Off to My Heroes (58)

To be a healthcare worker, or any first responder, unimaginable today. Honor to you, always. Postal workers, trash collectors, plumbers and tradesmen who come into our homes, day care workers, caregivers, veterinary staff and more, all plunged into the line of fire now—I am grateful to you all. And my own heroes since we began to shelter in place, the people at my Ralph’s, at my mother’s Trader Joe’s, from the beginning, so impressive. How quick they were to rally, to organize our lines outside the store, to let in seniors and people with disabilities early. They developed systems for sanitizing our grocery carts. They tell us what is out of stock, what is being rationed. Every day they show up, put themselves at risk so we can buy lentil soup, wild bird seed, garlic, beets. And they do it all with such good cheer in the midst of the chaos. The people at my own Ralph’s have long been some of my favorite humans, people I rely on for their kindness, for open-hearted connection, people who matter to me a great deal. But now they all amaze me. Genaro. Mark. Lee. Anita. Nathan. And all the rest of you whose names I never mastered. You awe me, so gallant your efforts. You bring me to tears. Hats off to each of you, palms across my chest. Thank you. Stay well.

Ode to Corn Plants and Pelicans (57)

Young corn plants growing, bright green shoots unfolding into leaves that bend and curve, little beings in the moist dirt. I don’t think I’ve ever met a happier plant than corn plants. But maybe in part it is the way they grow together that makes this true, that they sprout up in kinship with the other corn plants around them. Maybe they are happy because they are in community. Today they make me think of the brown pelicans gathered on the broad, sandy beach outside Todos Santos in Baja California Sur. They stood upright, too, in clusters, alert, their kind eyes watching me, old souls. Maybe corn folk are old souls, too.

Owl Love (56)

I race all day
and at dusk
I walk out my mother’s gate
and hear
a great horned owl
in the neighbor’s tree
I stop
stand still
listen
feel the earth
under me
fill my lungs
with rain washed air
caress this big bird
in my heart
his soft whoots
follow me back
inside
blessed.

Late Night Work (55)

The heater shuts off
and the quiet dark world
wraps around me.
Finally after a frenzied day
and an evening nap
I accomplish something
concrete for my colleagues.
Time now
for a late-night snack
Jerusalem artichokes
pinenuts
a dried persimmon
and the good book
waiting for me
beside my bed.

Downtown (54)

Shade
on a bench downtown
the hummingbird pokes
orange tecoma blossoms
beside me
rubs his beak against the bark
the town quiet
the air clean
the mountains close
and well loved
I savor this respite
after the earlier frenzy
and ready myself for
my Amtrak bus.

Jaywalking (53)

I cross the busy street
feel frenzy in my body
from people in the store
discouraged
I cry on the sidewalk
two ravens come
play circles
in the air
connect me
again.

Frog Metta (52)

Walking home
one lone frog calls
from the creek
again and again
in the almost dark
I greet him inside me
as I leave him behind
wishing him
plenty of water
and good bugs
always.