Lesser Days
Hands gather beech leaves
cracked yellow on the walk.
Five-point maples fire
in the remains of sun.
Bough of the white pine prays
to wind—needles strewn along the rail.
Rake, sweep, brush, hose.
We make decisions before the rain.
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Seth Rosenbloom writes poetry and consults with companies on leadership and management. His poetry has appeared in CutBank Online, Hawai’i Pacific Review, and The Main Street Rag among other publications. Seth holds a BA in Drama from the University of Washington, and he lives in Seattle.
I love this poem and the way it places the natural world parallel to humanity with such gentle brush strokes.
I am struck by the contradiction between the robotic rinse-lather-repeat of “Rake, sweep, brush, hose” and the notion that we are the masters of our own destiny. Who is controlling who?
Love your poem, Seth.
“ Bough of the white pine prays
to wind—needles strewn along the rail.”
Struck by how we continue to do the daily mundane tasks as everything around us is being swept away and shifted and rearranged. Your poem captures that so well.