The Little Hours Mid-morn, noon, mid-afternoon, paired doves dip and dab for seed where lawn meets hardtop and the courting male coos. Mottled feathers, blue-ringed eyes, mourning doves hunt and peck during the hours known as terce, sext, none. Minus the drama of dawn or dusk, times for stacked paperwork, cups of tea. Value measured by ticked to-do lists. Dollar time. The twice-twelved day sliced fine, needs thicker layers, a kinder pace. Praise for eyes that stare off, soften focus. For deep sighs body releases from our first home in the world. Thanks also for the doves who wing whistle and like the hours flee.
Rhett Watts is a member of the 4×4 poet and artist collaborative in Worcester and facilitates writing workshops in CT and MA. Her books are: Willing Suspension (Antrim House Books) and The Braiding (Kelsay Books). She won the Rane Arroyo chapbook contest for No Innocent Eye. Her work appears in Best Spiritual Writing 2000 and she has poems in journals including Canary, SWIMM, Spoon River Poetry, The Worcester Review, Sojourners Magazine, The Windhover, and many others.
Amethyst Review 