two poems for a sunday morning

if i wanted a boat

i would want a boat, if i wanted a

boat, that bounded hard on the waves,

that didn't know starboard from port

and wouldn't learn, that welcomed

dolphins and headed straight for the

whales, that, when rocks were close,

would slide in for a touch or two,

that wouldn't keep land in sight and

went fast, that leaped into the spray.

what kind of life is it always to plan

and do, to promise and finish, to wish

for the near and the safe? yes, by the

heavens, if i wanted a boat i would want

a boat that i couldn't steer.

the wasp

why the wasp was on my bed i didn't

know. why i was in bed i did know. why

there wasn't room for both of us i

didn't know. i watched it idly. idleness

can be a form of dying. i did know that.

the wasp didn't communicate how it felt.

it did look confused on the white sheet.

as though it had landed somewhere in the

arctic. and it did flick its wings when

i raised my legs, causing an upheaval.

i didn't want to be lying there. i didn't

want to be going in that direction. and

so i say it was a gift when it rose into

the air and, as wasps do, expressed itself

in a sudden and well-aimed motion.

almost delicious was its deep, inflexible 

sting. 

by

mary oliver

(from blue horses, 2014)

 we're heading into tech week for ellen's almuni and family matters concerts. my sister and brother-in-law will come for the show and stay over next saturday night, so i guess i considered this breakfast as our last small family breakfast with morgana for awhile (she flies out of jfk a week from tuesday).

we had german pancakes, though i see a fried egg on chanda's plate . . (morgana chose the poems this morning, from her book of mary oliver poems she received from her friend deychen).