Mother Tongue, Sandy Lee Carlson, Sandy Carlson, Woodbury Poetry

Any Morning in Woodbury


Making the bed before you leave the room,

Putting the breakfast things in the kitchen,

Opening the curtains to the morning light,

Lifting the blinds, straightening couch pillows:

A show of order and purpose, your gift

To the day as you step onto the front porch,

Stretch your back, and lift your face to the sun

As a raccoon and her young amble home,

A deer, noticing your breath, continues

Watching, the eye contact her gift to your

Day, a celebration of solitude

Set to music by jays just now awakening.

You drive off in silence, the windows down,

Alive in the peace your heart has found.



and

Cutting Back


My neighbor says my overgrown gardens

Are a mess in a good way.  This is a true 

And happy fact, though he doesn’t quite know 

Why.  He has never shared his opinion 

Seated beside me here in the garden,

Where he might notice birds feasting, bathing,

Lifting themselves up, up, up the laddered 

Branches of white pines while filling silence 

With song. If he sat still, he might notice

The small mammals disregarding my gaze

As they turn the earth in their search for nuts.

He might even drift into clouds and dream.

I will invite him after I do not 

Cut back the bushes–all the home I’ve got.