As easy as a yawn,
as easy as a comfy chair
with plenty of light,
as easy as a conversation
with memories and things to do with hands,
the afternoon and evening settled in
It has been an easy landing
from the place we had to leave,
and easy place to stay inside,
since we have to
We can call it a cocoon for now,
we can get ready
for the time, coming so soon,
to jump back in.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 13, 2020
I liked my shadow
walking in front of me
carrying a pail,
wearing a long dress,
long hair loose, blowing in the wind
I liked the late afternoon,
still hot, but rendered pleasant
by our recent swim
I like the sounds of the night –
the crickets there, the traffic here in town –
Life’s subtle adventure
humming behind it all.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 2, 2020
A book comes in the mail.
The question: do I cleave firm
to obligations and to duties,
do I make sure that everything
is tucked into place? The better
to charge into tomorrow,
get things accomplished
while it’s cool? Do I fulfill
my daily discipline?
Or do I drop everything
and read?
©Wendy Mulhern
August 27, 2020
The washing machine
knows better than you
how much soap to dispense
and what heat and soap and time it takes
to wash your jeans
Why should you bother
to learn these things
when the washing machine
can do it for you?
Of course its little
electronic brain
can also fry,
which is why we recommend
the extended five year warranty,
because you can’t be expected
to fix these things yourself.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 25, 2020
A day of rain and fire,
tending trees and tending hearth,
learning of needs, and learning of power,
and the long journey
in which one can clasp the hand of the other
if briefly, as promise of a partnership further on
It is a day to see the field of daisies as a forest,
immeasurably long to trek through
yet coming to the end
sooner than I might think.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 30, 2020
photo by Edward Mulhern
Morning has its faithfulness,
and even before dawn
as the gibbous moon still shines,
the turkeys are set off
by any other sound — the geese,
another flock of turkeys,
tiny songbirds, the occasional duck
Even before dawn
cars and trucks are trundling
down Marcola road along the river
We are up earlier
than our rustic lives would order,
preparing for errands in town
and to get back to planting
before the rain.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2020
My feet suddenly remember
how they tingle in damp grass —
my toes stretch and grasp the feeling
and I consider
taking off my socks and going out
It is as they remember —
a little colder, maybe,
and the grass bends flatter underfoot.
There are fir cones in the grass,
small birds trilling from afar,
and soft socks to return to
in the house.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 22, 2020
Before the day devolves
to winter evening’s sodden dark,
before the sun withdraws
and dusk and rain take over,
let its singularity and freshness make their mark,
let me take in all they have to offer
And let me not forget
the simple happiness
of a place to be,
a place with warmth,
a place with windows,
a place with everything I need
Though unmomentous,
this is not a lesser day,
though unpretentious,
it is still enough.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 26, 2020
Today I thought about how
silence could be an option
in the early fading away
of light from the windows,
in the random lamplit reading
of books most often looked at but untouched
upon my shelves — basketry, house design,
Anglo-Welsh poetry, mushrooms —
I could stay silent
for this, another night like any,
not try to add any insights to the world
(as if that were what I do anyway)
I could have stayed silent,
but then there was this.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 10, 2020
We watched the water change.
No sun to set, but gray and russet
tones darkened, something less than wind
ruffled the water, pleating the reflections,
bringing the lighter and the darker
lines across the surface
I don’t know where to put this,
you said. I don’t know where
to put anything,
not here, not anywhere.
I don’t know why I’m crying.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 3, 2020