after Jenny Browne

Cacophonies and nonsense, mistakes and injuries, bad
haircuts and out-of-fashion manners. Parades of assholes
and imposters and traitors. Villains and thieves who maybe
had bad mothers or didn’t have enough of whatever
one needs—food and water, a warm bed, safety—maybe
do not have enough now. I want to love the ugly spots
and derelicts, and the ones who run traffic lights, and all those home
wreckers. I want to love the plan-gone-awry, the off-kilter
decision, the planetary mishaps, the wars of the heart.

But it’s hard to love what I am when I know it’s wrong.
I don’t easily forgive my mistakes in their swishing dresses
and careless mascara, with their impetuously long cigarettes. I don’t like
when I say a stupid thing, or lie, or laugh at someone else’s folly.

Still, outside my door, even in this little patch of yard,
there are Leyland cypresses aiming to tower, white shed trying
to protect, and dirt warming the root system of every living
thing—even the weeds that will crack the edges
of these beds. I must love them too because everything
in this world wants to grow—not just peace, not just joy.

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Image: “Street Pinwheel” by Alex J. Tunney