Feet on the floor

One of those days.

Some days require

Feet flat on the floor

Anchoring the body

Like my yoga lesson

On the four points

Of each foot.

Some days require

Attention to where exactly

I place each foot

One in front of the other

Even if it means

Holding onto the railing

Or even

Both railings.

Some days require

A different sort of anchor.

Today is one of

Those days.

Tomorrow may be

As well.

Today I practice

Feet flat on the floor

Four points on each foot.

Vocation haiku

We get stuck on the word vocation. We all have one at least. All vocation, all vocations, arise from community. All vocations are holy, wholly lived in community. Sometimes it is a community of two, often more. We are all helping one another discern vocation all the time. Sometimes we see it.

Vocation: we all

Have one at least but really

Several… if we look.

Routines

We all have routines

Even the kitten

Has routines.

She does acrobatics

On the spinny desk chair,

Launches herself

To the coffee table,

Slides through the magazines.

She always gets the last lick

Of the yogurt container.

The older cat

Does not care

For yogurt.

He shares the end

Of the cereal bowl

With the kitten.

Soon they both

Will be sound asleep

After an extensive bath.

Soon

I will go to the dentist

For a teeth cleaning.

We all have routines.

Tidy

More kitten.

Now we can never find

The last pen

We used.

Now we find

Stray singular socks

Throughout the house.

The kitten has taken

To catch and release.

She has located

The loose grout

In the kitchen tile floor

And loosened it

Even more.

The kitten has un-tidied

Anything

That once was tidy

Anything we once thought

Was tidy.

Surprise

She says

Surprise.

Every household

Might be well-imbued

By the animated presence

Of a kitten

Un-tidying the perception

Of a neat and tidy world.

Every one of us is a saint

More on the icons. More on you. More on me. More on us.

Every one of us

Is a saint

Broken

Discarded

Maybe

Perhaps

We have been treated

As leftover wood

Until even one person arrives

Sees the gold

Even the possibility

Of gold

Within us

Writes our life

On wood

In gold

Perhaps a dragon

Under our feet,

Sword in hand

Kindly victory

In our eyes

Yes

Everyone is a saint

Every one of us

A reclaimed piece of wood

Perhaps reclaimed

Again and again.

Every one of us.

The woman works in wood

The exhibit at church (St. Mark's, Glen Ellyn) offers Sacred Icons by Mother Magdalena until Advent. They are stunning. Simply stunning. Every day when I walk in to church I choose an icon to spend time with. Then the day continues as it has begun.

The woman works in wood

Discarded wood

Thrown away

Odd old pieces.

They carry with them

Pictures

Of holy people

Pictures already there

To be drawn out

Noticed and written

Edged in gold

Stamped in silver

The woman works in wood

There are saints contained

In the wood

They must be written

So more will see.

Milk ring

Another in the kitten series. 

I wonder if milk rings have another name. I wonder if they could be marketed as cat toys, perhaps sold in containers of six or twelve. I wonder when kittens outgrow milk rings. The grandfather cat used to store his milk rings in his food dish. Perhaps they are always useful, somehow, for something.

For want of a milk ring

The kitten finds more things

To climb,

More things

To push to the floor

The grandfather cat

To annoy

Once again

.

A new milk ring

Is a thing of joy,

A thing be carried and thrown

In the air,

To be rolled on

And rediscovered

To be taken up

Again and again

To hide in shoes

And find.