November Morning

The morning is copper
according to this oak
and the sun that casts her line
into the waters of another autumn mist.

I am still on this shore
waiting for something to happen,
like happiness or mindful laughter.

Who wouldn't be breathless
with the anticipation
of another moment
like this frosty
polished joy?

Making Sabbath While the Game is On

On this ordinary Sunday
I escape into the kitchen
while the game is on
to put together chicken pot pie.

My sons, these men in the making,
will be hungry in a few hours

the way they always are
after a weekend of sleeping
and silence the other days of the week
won't allow.

My compassionate companion, the radio
plays while I cut potatoes, carrots,
celery, leeks, broccoli,
and add corn and peas--
exactly bite-sized morsels.

It is easy to find comfort
in all that has come from the garden.

I will tuck each offering
under a buttery crust
and allow abundant steam
and cream,
warm and true
as hands on aproned hips--

Mama calling the beloved
to the glowing supper table.

We will bow our heads,
thankful for the touch
of grace and the ringing of cups,
clinking a joyful toast
to this sabbath meal.