Firestarter

This day, when the milk carton rips a little on
opening, that hernia, not quite repaired, bites when
you stand, the coffee, “Fogcutter” it says on the bag
lies or anyway overestimates and dogs
grayly humbled by sudden damp, grumble
melancholalia stops their frantic shrieks to murmurs
unworth a dart to the glass-fronted door, even
the mail carrier FedEx UPS slinks boneless across
our porch carpeted by wind fruit, pulpy, rain-stuck
was always coming and we know

the tiny tasks that call us, ignored, to pull our heads out into
this screenless, twinging authenticity save lives make
lives grow connections like roots through the air

to sweep up, pick beans, make tea for a
friend, this is living.