nothing matters
from my window seat I can see a bench
concrete sides holding wooden slats
under the tree that has taken a century
to grow beyond the telephone pole
from my window seat I can see a bench
concrete sides holding wooden slats
under the tree that has taken a century
to grow beyond the telephone pole
meet me there
and don’t bring a thing with you
perhaps a cup of coffee, or a pup
leave anything that beeps or vibrates
and we will linger with a sense of purpose
as though nothing matters
(as in we have nothing to prove other)
we will do nothing the way Martha did
–you say that’s how I always talk about her
because I’m with Mary in the kitchen–
I am working to learn that nothing matters
to understand what I mean you have to be here
on the bench next to me listening to the tone
of my voice, paying attention the way
Mary could not with her tray of hors d’oeuvres
nothing matters so much that we must do
nothing other than find ways to each other
so meet me on the bench–and bring snacks
all this talk about food has made me hungry
Peace,
Milton
