Tikkun Olam

Bright April morning
caught up with laundry
dogs walked and resting,
cats in their beds.

Pile of mending
yet to be tended,
pushed aside, sighing
mending could wait.

Blossoms still budded,
sky blue with promise,
enticing us out
to the gardens and yard…

Geosmin perfumes,
pulling us downward,
sorting detritus
winter had left.

I left you, wandering
stretching, inspecting
plants resurrecting
noticing nests…

Easing my heart,
gently releasing,
watching the river
sparkle and flow.

Long days of tension,
socially distant,
injuring hearts and
harboring hurts,

mild disagreements
flaring impatiently,
high winds and cold rains
faded away.

There you were, kneeling,
not planting, but weeping,
mourning a world that felt
out of control,

yet earth was singing
in cascades of birdsong
keeping her promise,
renewing green hope.

I knelt down beside you,
not weeping, but planting,
and soon we had
lettuce and spinach beds set.

It felt like the earth
might pardon our callousness,
longtime dismissive
rejection of gift…

She might yet forgive us
our blatant unfaithfulness
cruel abuses,
desertion, disdain.

She might love us back
into co-creativity,
becoming the lovers
we promised to be.

Walking together,
we smiled at the robin
flying with fibers
to strengthen her nest.

That afternoon,
I turned to the mending,
love demands tending,
promises kept.

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