Meditating on the Porch

Monday, across the ground
On which my veiled eyes did not focus,
Walked a cat. Tuesday, I waited for it.
Tuesday, I smelled bacon. Wednesday,
Catless, I wondered what everyone was having
For breakfast. Wednesday, my neighbor's air conditioner
Rattled to a halt, leaving only
The bird calls, unveiled.
Thursday, catless, hungry,
I hoped for the quiet. Thursday, I felt the rain.
Friday, so many chances
To practice letting go.

 

Walking Meditation

Although arriving at a sun-warmed spot on the wood floor
My cold feet sigh, "home," kinhin pushes on, however
Slowly. Nothing can stay.

 

Religious Purification

They couldn't have picked a better guy
For blowing up, the one who was always awake
To the delusion of groundedness.
For him the foundation was no foundation.
There is a certain rightness
In the statues of the man who disappeared
Disappearing. If there is rightness.

 

Security System

All the doors stand wide. At each,
A painter. Breezes and the soft sound of brushes
whisper through the house. No one
Can enter or leave.

Judith Ferster, who has published poetry in the Georgia Review and the New Arts Review, teaches and writes about medieval literature and freshman writing at North Carolina State University.

 
Copyright © 2001 by Judith Ferster, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. Copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that the editors are notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author