Inventory

 

Three tiny rooms, full of wolf pictures,
amethyst, feathers, stones and books;
one small plant with yellow blooms
brightening my desk, surrounded by stones 
that say: Gratitude, Remember, Hope, Peace
and Believe. A carved wooden wolf on
my window sill; a photo of my black wolf
staring at me as I write;

the world of online poets and poetry,
connecting me with poets all over the world,
without which I'd be lost; friends,
on the other side of the screen as we tap
our way through the pandemic we never
expected to experience;

a big window, through which
I watch the sky; eagles, starlings,
hummingbirds zipping past,
and a white wolf dog with spooky
light blue eyes, who stands on his hind legs
to peer at me through the pane,
cavorting giddily when we make
eye contact; music, which takes me back
to earlier years, years more full of dreams.
Now my years are more a harvest
than anticipation. Now life has a sameness
that is comforting to those with low energy;

a tv, which brings me news
of discord and disaster,
but also the heroism of
front line workers, and the kindness
of people towards others who
are suffering, since we're all in this
together;

books, which nightly take me on journeys
into other lives that travelled more than mine,
though while my life has not gathered many air miles,
I have travelled such a long journey
from where I started out;

poems, that chart the journey I have made,
that say I was here and tell what that was like:
bread crumbs to leave behind
for others to read once I am gone;

a computer, my connection with the world
when covid turns me into a hermit
who feels safest indoors.

An inventory, suggested by Laurie Wagner of Wild Writing.