Tuesday Poem

Not Leaving the House
When Kai is born I quit going out Hang around the kitchen – make cornbread Let nobody in. Mail is flat. Masa lies on her side, Kai sighs, Non washes and sweeps We sit and watch Masa nurse, and drink green tea. Navajo turquoise beads over the bed A peacock tail feather at the head A badger pelt from Nagano-ken For a mattress; under the sheet; A pot of yogurt setting Under the blankets, at his feet. Masa, Kai, And Non, our friend In the garden light reflected in Not leaving the house. From dawn till late at night making a new world of ourselves around this life. by Gary Snyder