daily mud
when I’m down and most prone
to fall into the mire of meaning
I resort to the stars as if
they might pin a ribbon
on my chest: a reward
of understanding to come;
the wars of fidelity won
—as if I might win
the Medal of the Unknown’s
Honor for piety
instead of for keeping my head
in the machine of the moment
taking it in, knowing the bliss of a laugh,
tending the scrape on a daughter’s hand
or wound of her heart
feeding a poor mouth
shoeing a bare foot
taking little, chewing
cud
—as if there were some truth
greater, more sublime,
more holy, more worthy
of wonder than that found here
in our daily
mud
.
by Jim Culleny
8/12/11