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  1. The streets are lined with garbage bins,
    their mouths overflowing with the spoils

    of winter feasting and discarded
    hulls of wants and needs– orange rinds

    and discolored tea bags among crumpled
    strips of tinfoil, pale gold-tinted bottles

    that housed juices gathered from the vine.
    The trucks are late, they have not come

    for a day and a half and we are anxious
    because we know the hungers always

    start up again almost as soon
    as they are filled. Oh teach me

    to temper my restlessness awhile, to sit
    and drink my coffee without moving

    from this little pool of sunlight growing
    in the window, even when the clouds

    have shifted. Feathery contrails outline
    a wedge of blue. On a high branch,

    three mourning doves sit facing the sunrise.
    See how the middle one preens its wings.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    12 29 2010


    1. Wow, that was quick! (Or did you already have it half-written when my post appeared?) A really fine meditation. This time of year always prompts me to reflect on consumption and waste.



  3. No, Dave– I always try to respond to each post new and without premeditation, trying to keep my mind limber and not dwell too much or too long or agonize over things. I’m trying to develop a better receptivity to the things that present themselves as occasions for poetry. Thanks therefore, once again. Visits to The Morning Porch are helping me immensely.

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