Thursday Twofer: Something Old, Something New

                      Small Things

I did not learn early enough to savor

the smaller things of life—in this life—

just a single moment shared as precious

as the tiniest blossom—of course,

so much easier to be awed by an avenue

of flowering redbuds, pink petals being

unsprung by a spring breeze, feathering

across a lane—the slightest smile,

for just a moment, or a grazing of an arm,

not even with the hand, a fingertip,

the tucking back of the hair behind your ears,

the saying of my name, a gentle giggle

at my awkwardness—too easily dazzling,

a grand panorama across the range, uneven

in colors as clouds and sun contend with one another—

a footfall, a sidelong glance—easy, too, to be humbled

at the ocean, early enough to be in solitude

with the dog bounding ahead—you taking my hand

in yours, for just one moment, small things.

Ladson 2016

                        Pebbles

Vexed, oh I am.

Weak, too, a caving in—

circumstances beyond our control, you know.

I want to grab a rock

twice the size of my hand

And hurl it—

a big hollowing sploosh.

 

Nose out of joint, even

a dose of self-pity.

Weaker, weakest.

I want to muscle a larger rock to the cliff’s edge

and tumble it down,

to launch waves racing, to the far side

and halfway back again.

 

More, I would say.

But, your pond.

So, no.

Nary a pebble will I toss.

Your pond, then,

still.

Lyman 2021