I do not concern myself with things
too marvelous for me.
I pull young buckthorn after the rain
and watch the cranesbill fill in,
tie a clover around my child's wrist
to stop her from crying after a fall.
I do not concern myself with matters
too great. I skim the article
once or twice--rebel fighters,
refugees, tankers billowing smoke.
Shall I say each time my eyes wander
to the blue stars of lilac tumbling
from a jar on the table,
that I love those lilacs more?
I will die being no help to this man
curled around a broken IV
on a floor in Sri Lanka.
I would like to sink into his stare
and pray him through his nightmares.
But first I lie in the grass
and bury my face in the great skirts
of the sky, making peace
with the carpenter ants and the other
small brilliances of my life.
Tania Runyan.
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