You learn to tuck a few bills and a handful of coins in your pocket, in case you upset a cartful of tomatoes in the market and have to pay for your carelessness. You learn that if you cry into a bowl of egg whites, even the smallest tear will keep them from rising. If you hold your breath when passing a funeral parlor, perhaps the dead won't follow you home. Every jar emptied of pickles, every plastic carton that onced housed ice cream or cooking oil, is useful for collecting water. Run into the yard with a bar of soap so the summer rain can wash you clean. Bur don't purse your lips to whistle, in order to keep hurricanes at bay. Every thought and gesture has a corresponding effect on the body of the world, even if you don't immediately understand—Why not scatter drops on the ground before any first mouthful, why not peel and section fruit to propitiate the unseen? Every crevice in the earth is monitored by an abundance of feelers. At night, see how trees carry the moon in their arms before releasing it.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.