Two poems

While you were out looking for enlightenment

Here is what the note said:
While you were out looking for enlightenment,
I cleaned the house
and put your laundry in the wash,
I took the dog to the vet: it’s nothing serious, it seems,
and picked up that green tea you wanted.
I had lunch with Alice, she asked
about you
and I made a pot of black bean soup—
it’s in the fridge. The pears are ripe,
please eat them soon!
I called about the termites, they’ll
be out tomorrow,
and the kids and I played at the park.
Josh made a new friend from down the street.
I paid the bills and ironed
a couple shirts. Please remember
your dentist appointment in the morning!
Today was just an ordinary day,
nothing special,
how about you?

What is our practice for?

It goes like this:
In the timeless moment of a melting kiss
a thousand children perish;
savoring our morning tea
a half dozen species disappear forever
from the earth
while we are immersed in prayer
a politician winks and nods
and as we are driving absent-mindedly to work,
deep in a dear friend’s bones
a cancer cell goes haywire.
While we answer an email
acres of rainforest disappear
As we write a check to save the whales
a car wreck cripples a promising athlete.
A drunk walks into a bar
a mother is pushing a stroller
a heron stands perfectly still on one
impossibly slender stilt:
you are not here
you are not there,
where everything is happening at once.
Don’t try to hold it all the only
way to practice is to let go
of all imagining
who we are and
what we can do;
in coming together we grieve
and celebrate the world, our lives
and this.