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"Meditation by the Stove."

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"I have banked the
fires of my body

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into a small but steady
blaze here in the kitchen

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where the dough has
a life of its own,

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breathing under its damp
cloth like a sleeping child;

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where the real child
plays under the table,

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pretending the tablecloth is
a tent practicing departures;

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where a dim brown
bird dazzled by light

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has flown into the window
pane and lies stunned

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on the pavement--

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it was never simple, even for
birds, this business of nests.

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The innocent eye
sees nothing, Auden

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says, repeating
what this snake told

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Eve, what Eve told
Adam, tired of gardens,

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wanting the fully lived life.

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But passion happens
like an accident.

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I could let the dough spill
over the rim of the bowl,

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neglecting to punch it down,
neglecting the child who

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waits under the table,
the mild tears already

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smudging her eyes.

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We grow in such haphazard ways.

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Today I feel wiser
than the bird.

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I know the window shuts me
in, that when I open it,

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the garden smells
will make me restless.

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And I have banked
the fires of my body

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into a small domestic
flame for others

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to warm their hands
on for a while.

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