About Nothing This morning nothing’s on my mind but feeding backyard birds and tracking the light frost lounging on the neighbors’ roofs. The sun is on tour through Douglas firs and I’m curious about melting time. Then it occurred I should pencil in slogging through the grass to chide the moss winter didn’t kill and praise bleeding hearts’ return. And what a mistake to miss the star magnolia tree. Its pussy willows bloom before they turn to leaves. I should contemplate the confused cactus in the family room announcing Christmas in early spring. Followed by closets needing breathing space and bookshelves begging for relief from never-reads. Of course, I could catalog every wall and re-evaluate excessive steel-cut art, photographs, ceramic plaques designed to motivate. A favorite? What can you afford to live without? I’d love to grab a pen and explore Buddha’s claim contentment is the greatest wealth, but a sparrow is peeking through the sliding door. Her hungry eyes complain I forgot what I woke this morning for. Nothing isn’t nourishing, she bobs her head. Agreed.
Carolyn Martin is a lover of gardening and snorkeling, feral cats and backyard birds, writing and photography. Her poems have appeared in more than 130 journals throughout North America, Australia, and the UK. She is the poetry editor of Kosmos Quarterly: journal for global transformation. Find out more at www.carolynmartinpoet.com.