Call it grace

On the east-facing wall, deep dents
in aluminum siding— we’re told

the previous owners had large dogs
they kept tethered on that side

of the yard. When I take out
the trash, sometimes I wonder

at the length of the leash,
the force of the lunge.

In summer, fruit at the top
of the tree always the first

to be snatched up by the birds;
& the globes drooping close

to the earth ransacked by small
animals that creep under the fence.

In the morning, half-eaten hearts
of figs strewn on the grass.

And we: we get what we’re lucky to find
in the middle branches & call it grace.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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