the fraught world
retreats
powerless
in the face of
recycling boxes
tidying the garage
fixing a broken chair
global tensions
dissipate
impotent
against the power of
weeding the garden
harvesting tomatoes
clipping summer’s last rose
folded laundry
smooths global supply chains
clean countertops
muffle rattled sabers
they’re not solutions
but they ease my pain
for an hour
or a minute
and sometimes
that’s all I need
to continue
k
Unraveling Time
Desert Wind
Ploughman's Son
Ploughman King
The Year the Cloud Fell
The Spirit of Thunder
Shadow of the Storm
The Cry of the Wind
Beneath a Wounded Sky
Cryptogenesis: A Memoir
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 
[…] had a vacation. The first week I spend powering down—sleeping decent hours, relaxing, reading, puttering—but the second week is when my brain finally looks up, sees the sky, hears the birdsong, smiles, […]
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Thanks Kurt for this very moving poem. Love the layout and staccato rhythm. Take care.
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Much appreciated, Susan.
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And cuddle the cat — don’t forget that.
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Ah, yes, but that’s always (and only) on her terms.
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