Break into Blossom

I hadn't mowed our yard since we got back from vacation two weeks ago. The days it was nice I was busy, the days I wasn't busy it rained. The grass was knee length, long gone to seed, and weed vines had woven themselves into the grass. Took it on last night, took it on with all the aargh in my legs and arms and spleen and stomach and spine and brain. Beat the fuck out of the grass. Fuck you, grass.

After, we go out to dinner. We were going to go to the vegetarian Chinese restaurant we've patronized for ten years, but the owner has semi-retired to attend to her ill mother and the quality of the food has suffered in her absence, so, on the way, when we saw and remembered a newish restaurant whose signage advertised tofu dishes that we'd talked about trying, we thought why not. Went in, sat down, ordered a coke and two club sodas, then noticed the menu was Korean. I love Korean, Planet had never had Korean, Earthgirl swore two decades ago after trying Korean once to never eat it again. Best restaurant meal we've had in recent memory. Earthgirl wants to go back next week.

Went to sleep last night feeling strange, light, unencumbered, bright, woke up this morning with this in my head:

It took me a shower, the drive to work, an hour at my desk before the first phone call from an asshole before I realized that for fourteen hours I hadn't been angry first, angry always, felt obligated to be angry.

Don't worry. It couldn't last, I wouldn't let it last, but before the happy bruise of a half a day of not being angry fades, the most beautiful poem in the world, posted here for the kazillionth time:

A BLESSING

James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness   

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.   

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.   

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me   

And nuzzled my left hand.   

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.

Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.