This is today
it’s mid-morning, a warm wind clings,
loosely fills and flaps the folded sunshades long lapels,
evasively hovers between mating butterflies,
then rises into a thronging twitter of new-flown
house-martins jetting in blue air.
By my open door sit three carriers
they burst with shrubs to be planted.
Radio 4 speaks ‘double-dip recession‘,
words and birdsong merge,
gloss on fruiting apples,
in shade a rhythmic flick of horse-tails
swat each others flies.
This is today, the cat is at the vets.
I await results. Houseplants look dry.
Neglect nags with dishes in the sink.
The computer screen shines bright;
photos from the day before hide concentration;
the life model, studies made, a festive meal,
but this is today. White hot on paper.
It glints and winks on silver bangles.
Is warm in black cat fur on a bleached bench.
Today is patient with knowledge,
that I pick from possibilities,
from a bouquet tossed to stretched hands
pushing out of nights chrysalis.
Awkward legs swing down,
bare feet touch cold tiles
take the days weight on
standing heals spreading toes.
Awake in moments between steps,
between thoughts,
between breaths.
Those pauses that say,
you’re here,
this is today.