Shalom Shabbat
Whenever I was Martha, anxious about
many things, my spirits fell
and puddled like the rain. But since
I recognized—my Mary side—the one
necessity, I find rain
restful, in its easygoing persistence.
Housework we will always have with us,
but rain tapping the windows
makes an unassertive friend, till my eyes
drowse over, and I nod off smiling. He,
the sister’s caller, did not expect
to be entertained, to be made much of,
but simply to sit
encircled, and talk of times yet to come,
to bless and be blessed.
Outside, rain is content
with its work, giving grass its birthright.
A sunny day will be its Sabbath.
Russell Rowland writes from New Hampshire’s Lakes Region, where he has judged high-school Poetry Out Loud competitions. His work appears in Except for Love: New England Poets Inspired by Donald Hall (Encircle Publications), and Covid Spring, Vol. 2 (Hobblebush Books). His own poetry books, Wooden Nutmegs and Magnificat, are available from Encircle Publications.
Amethyst Review 