the days are nouns

“Daily”–Naomi Shihab Nye

These shriveled seeds we plant,
corn kernel, dried bean,
poke into loosened soil,
cover over with measured fingertips

These T-shirts we fold into
perfect white squares

These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp strips
This rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl

This bed whose covers I straighten
smoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanket
and nothing hangs out

my mother, tending to flowers.
my mother, tending to flowers.

This envelope I address
so the name balances like a cloud
in the center of sky

This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it

The days are nouns:  touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world

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2 thoughts on “the days are nouns

  1. Natalie! I just wanted to let you know that I have nothing to say today.

    Besides, “potato.”

    (You don’t need to greenlight this comment.)

    Be well.

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