On my walk around the neighborhood
I came across a broken basket
Lying abandoned on the side of the walk
Two-toned, earth-colored, woven wicker
A once sturdy body with still firm handles
Now a tear on one side, askew
Flattened and downtrodden by rain and mud
No longer a basket shape
No longer able to hold anything —
Other than my despair
Which came up suddenly
On seeing this discard.
A sinking in my belly
Linked this single item in an instant
To all the ills of the world —
Throw away culture
Nothing dear
Broken containers that can no longer hold us
Crushing inequality
The weight of no hope
I felt my body become the basket
Could feel my back fold over
Curl up, crush down
Upper body lying at a strange angle
Abandoned as useless
To be stepped upon in bad weather.
But I kept walking
Turned the corner
The birds were singing
With great passion and fury
Declaring their gratitude for this life
As it is.
And someone had planted
Some bright cabbage flowers
(I should know their name)
White green purple — vivid, enthusiastic
Right by the side of the road, near the mailbox
As a greeting.
I took note of my feet as they touched the ground
The earth’s magnetic force pulling me close
Each step a dadum —
Lift the foot and then feel the tug back to earth
The earth rising up to meet me
And my open basket and unnamed flowers
In a single embrace.
Here at last
Is a container spacious and gracious and unending enough
To hold my despair
Without collapse.
I, too, am a bird with a song of praise to sing.
