knowing it's time to feed its budding branches.
Like seedlings struggling towards the light,
even though I need a baptism of magic waters to cure all that aches
I don my gowns and masks and gloves
Tend to the sick, the lost, the tired, the dead.
I say a prayer, talk to God
think of things I love:
Birds and flowers and books
dandelions, earthworms, mosses,
to love, or not enough.
I rise
makes me want to stay in bed
Even when the outlook is bleak:
I've not seen my eighth graders smile. Or smirk.
my neighbor cut down the massive oak