GOOD FORTUNE
We left the fields, left long days tending
soil with a hoe in our hands as our minds
ran down each furrow of familiar ground
like water. At the door, mud and dust
followed us to bed. And when it came
to harvest, nothing else in the world
mattered but the work: a season’s hope
and labor picked, gathered and hauled
to the shed under the threat of rain.
Between drought and flood, we clung
to rare seasons of bountiful luck – raised
our eyes to skies without answers. But
news comes now in time for coffee, the
planet’s dramas and disasters keep us busy
on our way to work for the company
store. So convenient now to balance
our good fortune with tragedies, and when
it comes to worry: our cups runneth over.