This evening
I would like to be
an anchoress in her cell
a hermit nun living by a stream
where the dove and the crow bring me bread
a hen visits me to lay me an egg
an otter comes up from the river
with fresh fish
a wandering cow
lets me milk her into a sturdy pail
where I can stand in my doorway
and see all the changes of the sky
the cycle of the trees
from flower to leaf to empty branch
the flowers blooming each in turn
and hear the voices of the birds
and of the stream. How easy
it would be to pray and meditate,
to read and write and pass into
contemplation, to chant the praises
of the Lord and never have to worry
about catching a bus, buying toilet paper,
cooking myself dinner and trying
to decide what to watch on Netflix,
or Hulu, or Amazon, in my little apartment,
no bigger than an anchorite’s cell.
A Nest Made of Words 