"Meditation by the Stove."
"I have banked the fires of my body
into a small but steady blaze here in the kitchen
where the dough has a life of its own,
breathing under its damp cloth like a sleeping child;
where the real child plays under the table,
pretending the tablecloth is a tent practicing departures;
where a dim brown bird dazzled by light
has flown into the window pane and lies stunned
on the pavement--
it was never simple, even for birds, this business of nests.
The innocent eye sees nothing, Auden
says, repeating what this snake told
Eve, what Eve told Adam, tired of gardens,
wanting the fully lived life.
But passion happens like an accident.
I could let the dough spill over the rim of the bowl,
neglecting to punch it down, neglecting the child who
waits under the table, the mild tears already
smudging her eyes.
We grow in such haphazard ways.
Today I feel wiser than the bird.
I know the window shuts me in, that when I open it,
the garden smells will make me restless.
And I have banked the fires of my body
into a small domestic flame for others
to warm their hands on for a while.