A yellow goldfinch on a tall sunflower

pulls seeds from the brown center,

gathering what he needs, while

every day life slips away from us,

a smile lost, a hug that never quite

reaches outstretched arms. We yearn

for symbiotic relationships—a nod of

the head, the ring of the cell phone,

horseback riding with a friend, easy

conversation with a cup of java.

We need the familiar among the strange,

turning on a light switch in a darkened room,

petting a cat whose whiskers graze your hand,

understanding a sentence in a foreign tongue,

cutting your knee only to have a nurse dress it.

Losing your senses only deepens the connection—

a Braille book describing sunsets, a signed

conversation about Spanish-infused jazz.

 

This poem first appeared in Prairie Light Review (Autumn 2006).

Used here with the author’s permission.