Avoidance

the chunky orange umbrella

at the mustard-colored house

I can avoid seeing, moving

my chair just six inches sideways

the ugly dark-souled plants

that have filled up

the lovely clean frame

of the bay window

that last week held just sky and sea

I can't help glancing at over and over

if I want to see the waves beyond

easy enough to overlook, really

but all day I have been aware

of the hour approaching

for the gathering across the street

for the man (husband, father)

who has just gone into hospice care

aware like breath itself

while buying mustard greens,

filling a jar with water, lavender,

paying especially tender attention

to my own husband's

     cotton stocking feet,

hearing the children's voices

in the summer distance

all but drowned out

by the falling of the waves

—Christie