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The Wise Grasshopper




Grasshopper,

this bundled month,

I made homemade apricot jam rather

than spend time on edits.

Editing my book is like a patriotic parade,

with funereal slowness.

A sad march.
Characters are intimate friends.

I’m sensitive to their needs.

They want me to linger.


But I’m going swimming.

Plug in the fan,

turn on the air.

I’m crocheting a blanket.

Reading a book with dreary characters.

Local play rehearsals are my new diversion.

Town had a historic bell-ringing celebration.

Glad I could make it.

There’s the woman’s group,

the city meeting at Elks,

and of course,

church.


Jittery dogs need a walk.

Reruns on television.

It doesn’t seem fair to repeat quiz shows,

though my answers sound impressive.

I’d rather be an ear to a friend.

Their drama better than mine.

I’m not complaining.

But there’s something about this summer,

That’s kept me praying.


A sudden shift in normal--

perhaps just the alignment of the stars--

in the warmed-up sky.

One neighbor sailed away forever.

Our home shook on the Fourth of July.

You were here,
 as if to warn us,

centered on the gate.


Anyway, labels.

I need to make stickers for jam jars.


Go work on my manuscript?

What is wrong with you?

No wonder I took your photo.


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