Adam Oyster-Sands
Mary Oliver wrote that she was worried
Everyone could understand that particular poem
It seems to be the prevailing feeling of the day
And I know I’m not alone in my worry
Surely someone in Turkmenistan also fears
The fires on the horizon and
The virus on a cruise ship
New fears erasing the previous ones
Clear backpacks and bump stocks in a movie theater
And it didn’t snow this winter
But a few years ago it seemed we’d never see that
Sun reflecting off swollen rivers on a warm day
Beauty is a word we can no longer spell
Barely recognizable these days
Among the barrage of shit spilling from
Every available screen pointed in my direction
An awful phone call from my dad
As we worked in the yard and built something
With our hands, cracked and dry
with soap, scrubbing, and the cool early spring air
In the evening my partner and I drank beer
And we looked at a thing that existed because of us
Because we took the time to build and
We measured and connected the separate pieces
Together we made a bed for new life
Completed and whole and usable and new
They say a hummingbird’s nest is the size of
A tiny thimble easily overlooked in the pruning
The sun rising over the tree line this morning
A simple routine providing clarity of thought
A necessary reminder that
We live in hope
Though hope may be as fragile as the thimble nest
And until the heralded end arrives
And until we finally bid our worries goodbye
May we find our song in the morning light
Adam Oyster-Sands is a high school English teacher in Portland, Ore. He holds a BA from Dallas Baptist University and MA in humanities from the University of Dallas.
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