Walking To Work Along Mem Drive

Lord knows we’ve done a number on this place.
Still doing, with only as much shame as we can bear,
which isn’t nearly enough.

Still the wild geese honk as I go past their goslings.
Still, I walk through clouds of gnats,
past wild roses, frenzied bees inside their blossoms.

Still, the chicory springs forth like deliverance
from the concrete.

Past the almond tree near the train tracks,
past milkweed, heavy, sticky, blossoming
aphids alongside flowers.

Past mulberries fallen from the tree and crushed
purple into the asphalt. Past clover and flies
and anthills.

Pale purple morning glories and curly dock
and mullein, all woven together.

For sure, we’ve done a number,
but there’s a mallard with his jewel-green neck,
head tucked under his wing, drifting
as the scullers go past, coxswains shouting.

Still pigeons and starlings, still a red-tailed hawk
circling above, still looking for squirrels and rabbits
and skunks still skulking in the shadows
under the birch trees and the lindens.

Praise Adonai, from whom life bursts,
shattering our hearts.