This morning dried flowers scattered on the porch.
One yellow dandelion pokes through a hole
in the side of a metal can – humor irony beauty
reclaiming the world once again – so simply.
The day is cooler but has the warm dry
smell of summer. The wind an audible
exhale in the trees. And me trying
to order it all into lines –
the uncontainable. I never win.
But at times i inch a step closer
to what’s true inside of things – the crazy
disarrangement of wild grasses
a pattern so delicate and right
it could be a Japanese ink drawing
only better – the continuous
art-making of the world. I bow to it.
—© Maxima Kahn, published in The Jewish Women’s Literary Annual