TABITHA©
RESONANCE
from high in the hackberry tree
came the latest addition to our group
quite literally a drop-in
hitting the lawn with a thud
it must have hurt
anguished squirrel barks filled the air
scampering up the silver maple
back down the power line to the hackberry
over the fence rail
۞
before the group formed, Tabitha had visited the zendo
she sat facing in and did not move
nothing did
next morning she tried sitting to one side
after that on my hands
or by the door
until at last, just looking in to see how it was
nothing different, stick of incense, fresh flower
she left
a week later, resolutely
she asked me to open the patio door
went outside and led me to the lawn chair
her territory
clearly a better place to sit
the group meets every morning now
summer was open enrollment
a big black bee began showing up
buzzing in to visit small purple flowers
a pair of robins
hopping around the compost and over the lawn
a baby somewhere
our neighbor starting his motorcycle
now all of this may seem removed from zazen
but consider just how noisy a zen temple can be
gongs, chanting, wooden block clappers, the mokugyo beat
not to mention the kyosaku stick
whack!
or think of small purple flowers as incense
zazen is a state of mind, not things
Tabitha caught on quickly
as our concentration deepened, her ears stopped flickering
we were quite still
that's when we heard the thud
the next day it was watching
from the fence rail a few feet away
looking directly at us
dropping down to run towards the hackberry
and the next day it came closer, approaching our chair
why?
we weren't offering walnuts or anything
again this morning squirrel was on the fence
munching rose hips
gazing at us
speculations aside
it all feels quite natural
CIVIL RIGHTS
“London Bridge is falling down”
while Tabitha and I sit in the back yard
and our neighbor starts his motorcycle
a humming bird comes to visit the fuchsia
big black bee to the purple flowers
myriad sounds of life
oh, those long days ago
when Camel cigarettes were the obvious choice
of a savvy smoker
more tar and nicotine than any other cigarette
and when bumming a light:
“want me to kick you in the chest to get it started?”
freedom
to kick those butts
as we watch the humming bird
ears swivel to the small helicopter sound
for the moment
then return to doing nothing
NOON MOON
a pendulum in my grandfather mind hangs motionless
somewhere out of sight
over a clothes line shining brightly
in darkness complete
a cheerful sign
no mundane hope will raise the impossible
rather, a fly will visit my arm as we sit
waiting in early morning for clouds to clear
it does visit, a curious tourist
that might see a thousand toes
whereas Tabitha, with just two eyes
irritated at the miniature monkey
abruptly leaves her seat
and the pendulum remains undisturbed
SUMMER TIME
what is the sound of one bone breaking?
answer that and pass through the prison gate
but surely this is too extreme
the beheading of a journalist?
planes full of travelers meeting their deaths?
flood, drought, heat waves?
alarmist! chicken little!
better to let the world sort itself out
light a stick of incense
sit like a mountain
time and again
our back yard is blasted with jet planes
a neighbor's cuckoo clock
unseasonable clouds
Tabitha and I sit like accidental tourists
on a stationary tour bus
where things rush by on their own
we ignore religious diets
beliefs are out of the question
all the world is us
beheadings, water line ruptures, chiropractic cures, neighborhood kids, shopping carts festooned with American flags
tumble weed is hardly imagined in our back yard
which looks onto the edge
of a galaxy
with quantum wavicles
behaving in peculiar ways
THE GIFT
down the fence and into the side yard
here comes bushy tail
like a kid with a treasure
presenting a rose hip
“Hello, squirrel!”
then back up into the green canopy
a day or two later, as we sat, squirrel reappeared
hauling an avocado bigger than his head
across the back yard fence
stops on the post right before us
then sprints for the planter box
two ears, a pair of eyes, poke up over the edge
Tabitha, following her instinct, leaps up,
squirrel retreats to the hackberry tree
perches on a branch, making short cries
sort of softly
the squirrel belongs, I say
but Tabitha isn't listening
we are different, the three of us
the avocado
waiting on the ground by the box
I planted our gift
