The Smallest Chores

First rime, and I’ve forgotten to cover vines
full of fruit not quite ripe. The smallest chores
get lost in early nights. Like clean clothes stacked
high on the kitchen table are seen outlined
by refrigerator bulb. The dishwasher
just full enough to run, quiet. The broom
left behind door, and dogs watching my glass
of water fill. How close my hand to cheese,
the stick half-bit, a daughter’s fickle taste
her canine gift. Socks unpaired still in bin
wait my care. The lamp, this room’s horizon.
Dawn, the untraveled heron posting the dock,
stiff with wind. No matter what is done, not
done, a blessing, our lonesome sun’s attention.

WaterStone Review, Volume 20, 2017-2018