Doing Laundry with Beethoven

It's the little motions -

stretching an arm to peg
a long-sleeved shirt on the line,

leaning against the wall
to let someone pass,

lowering the kettle
silently to the stove

(Adagio from "Emperor"
hanging in the air) -

that carry the weight
of the day and prove
that we are here, now.

Words to Send

I pick them like my father picks
vegetables at the market:
he walks, and looks, and touches,
smells, and knocks (for a watermelon),
then purchases the best offer,
hands full of morning goodness.

One of the traditionally
empty-handed, I at least
pick and gather words, carefully,
those abandoned, long-faced words
left for later, then forgotten;
I assemble them and send them

to addresses while we're still here,
and make those who've forgotten
remember.