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Meditations on a Work Day

Each Northern Californian evening my husband drives back
to our new construction home, the one with hardwood floors

so shiny and slippery our puppy slides when she tries to run.
Our pup has learned to take any opportunity we are not hunched

over the damp sink, the stagnant laundry, the catalog mail
to paw our knees or lick the Adam’s apple of our ankles to play.

My husband saves lives while I make PowerPoint slides.
I picture him often – between my perfectly aligned text boxes

I’ve arranged like a Neiman Marcus holiday store display,
sometimes after I’ve recolored bar charts in a cascade of

Benjamin Moore blues, I imagine him a chef before dinner rush,
getting his mise en place of IV bags and patient literature.

He’s not afraid to cut or glue, to blow-up X-rays, to second guess.
His hands are as sturdy as a surgeon’s, and on the seldom occasion

his stack of intake forms and medical records falter and flutter,
his papers sing symphonies and confetti to the ground.

What is our puppy doing all this time? She is learning to tell time,
defying the laws of gravity, and studying the origins of the universe.

 





Posted 09/11/15
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