Backyard Sabbath
By Rhett Watts
Before leaf blowers buzz metallic as cicadas,
the last leaves on the white ash lift
backlit on a breeze. I stand beside myself,
beside spent blooms and the shriveled hearts
of morning glory leaves.
Deadheading browned asters, I sink
into leaf litter scattered with mushrooms.
And, notions of atonement fade into attunement
within this sanctuary. Presence of the ash,
leaves dropped in a flourish. Japanese maple bare
but for the burgundy skirt circling beneath.
It is enough to rest into this liturgy of the yard
while dahlias, small suns, still flare.
Rhett Watts has poems in The Christian Century, One Art, The Best Spiritual Writing 2000, and many journals. Her books are: The Braiding, Willing Suspension, and coming this fall, The Double Nest. She lives with her husband and Siberian cat 25 feet from a brook in MA.
