I believe in drinking whiskey in a sunset
or the ginger fur
of a cat splayed out
in a golden slice of afternoon.
I believe in the constancy and comfort
of warm yeast and apples. While
a potted hibiscus in a backyard in Illinois
is an act of rebellion, I believe.
I believe there should be as many words for love
as there are for clouds or colors.
When you see a ghost,
it’s best to call it
by name, I believe.
And while there is no cure for heartache,
I believe the smallest surprises,
like a group of ladybugs
being called a loveliness,
are a balm.
I believe in rubber boots and garden gloves
and chainsaws to tear down the overgrowth
blocking my view.
I believe
the dead can feed the living
in shredded bark and last year’s leaves
or in what was penned by poets and prophets
and people who loved trees.
I believe in getting some air and taking a lap
or another loop around the block.
I believe in downward-facing dog.
I believe most bad moods can be cured
in a hammock,
with a clear view of the sky.
As difficult as it can be,
I believe in rest.
© 2020 Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni
