The Work of Living

—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of James Lee Jobe
 

Every morning I give my parakeet and my conure fresh birdseed. They make their happy sounds and enjoy some breakfast. I also toss their old birdseed outside on the patio, a small colony of finches live in my jasmine, right beside the patio, and they have a little feast. On both sides of the sliding glass door there are happy, well-fed birds. And me. So life is good.

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COVID-19, the voices, it can bring tears to hear them, those voices from China, Italy, Spain, and New York. We can’t breathe, we’re dying. The struggle, the final gasps. That passion for life. And the rest of us here, learning to grieve for hundreds of thousands of people, just like us. People we have never met, but their deaths touch us nonetheless.

Reach inside yourself for the strength you need. It’s there. Your strength is in your own heart, it has always been there. Hold on to your faith in life, in your own humanity. Believe in yourself. Keep hope. Love and life will go on.

I did not make the axe, and I did not grow the tree, but with sweat and muscle I connected the two. Work and tools. Life and death. The work of living, the patterns of life. 

And so it was that we had to hide in our homes to be safe from the killing disease, and many of us died anyway. This was just as Spring returned, bringing new life to the world. Oh Irony, you marvelous devil!

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Today’s LittleNip:

Take an ember from the sun and weld it to your heart. Let each heartbeat fan the flame inside of you. What is time? Time is nothing at all.

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—Medusa, thanking James Lee Jobe for his poetry today, as he skillfully reaches out to touch those around him who are suffering. Don’t forget James’ virtual readings on Fridays at 7:30pm at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com/ or youtube.com/jamesleejobe/.

 —Public Domain Photo

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