Setting the sprinkler
after a week of heat,
grass blades curling
with thirst, it feels so right
to watch the spray, hear
the cyclical rain skirting the
driveway, coating the grass,
knowing it’s seeping into
dirt, plumping roots, that

things are being taken care of

There’s no playful banter,
flirtation that makes your spine
tingle, sweeping background music
or lost souls finding each other,

no walk-off home run excitement,
bittersweet my-baby’s-grown-up
graduation thrills; no deep deathbed
sadness from which you’ll never
recover; no family secrets; no days

at the beach. none of the things we think
we need to be fulfilled; to be happy; or
sad; just satisfaction knowing that

water is penetrating earth

things are being taken care of

This poem previously appeared in Flutter Poetry Journal (September 2009).
Used here with the author's permission.