Yesterday’s poem of the day from Knopf was Marge Piercy’s “Wellfleet Shabbat.” So nice. My favorite verse:

The sweet beeswax candles flicker
and sigh, standing between the phlox
and the roast chicken. The wine shines
its red lantern of joy.

Today, just a couple of lines about today’s Sabbath time. Today was not a complete Sabbath—Robert ended up working on taxes for a couple of hours in the middle of the day. I’m sure it will all end up as book fodder, but I lack the mental energy to put it all together right here and now. So here are a few images from the day.

The day begins—
not with bells and stumbling rapidness,
but with little feet padding in,
little bodies folding themselves into the bed.

And then, a day spent nibbling on this and that,
a buffet in time:
the newspaper,
knitting and beer brewing,
card games and a dollar movie.
Squabbling over two sinking helium balloons.
Colored paper Easter eggs, hidden in plain sight
for a little brother.
Waffles for dinner.
At bedtime, another chapter of The Secret Garden
Mary finally made it inside the locked door
and the girls don’t want to stop.


One thought on “Sabbath

  1. Jeanny House says:

    Oh! I wouldn’t want to stop either! What a lovely day it sounds like.

    My brother and sister-in-law read The Secret Garden to my niece when she was about 3. I was visiting them and we were going somewhere in the car when she pointed out the window and cried, “There’s Robin Redbreast! He’s my very best friend!”

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