The streets are lined with garbage bins,
their mouths overflowing with the spoils
of winter feasting and discarded
hulls of wants and needs— orange rinds
and discolored tea bags among crumpled
strips of tinfoil, pale gold-tinted bottles
that housed juices gathered from the vine.
The trucks are late, they have not come
for a day and a half and we are anxious
because we know the hungers always
start up again almost as soon
as they are filled. Oh teach me
to temper my restlessness awhile, to sit
and drink my coffee without moving
from this little pool of sunlight growing
in the window, even when the clouds
have shifted. Feathery contrails outline
a wedge of blue. On a high branch,
three mourning doves sit facing the sunrise.
See how the middle one preens its wings.
—Luisa A. Igloria
In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.
In the comments over at The Morning Porch (where Luisa first posted her response, as usual), I commented:
Wow, that was quick! (Or did you already have it half-written when my post appeared?) A really fine meditation. This time of year always prompts me to reflect on consumption and waste.
And Luisa responded:
No, Dave— I always try to respond to each post new and without premeditation, trying to keep my mind limber and not dwell too much or too long or agonize over things. I’m trying to develop a better receptivity to the things that present themselves as occasions for poetry. Thanks therefore, once again. Visits to The Morning Porch are helping me immensely.