The New England

When the children are in bed

and the dishes are clean

the porchlight dims to

hush the neighborhood,

snow falling in darkness

and the windows getting


Grandmother turns off her light

downstairs after saying her rosary

and the work is all done,

for the time being.

Even the dog and cat lie

curled up together in a peaceful

oval, mimicking the braided rug

beside the bed.

And there’s no one left

to care for.

tonight, instead,

pray for yourself,

and that life isn’t spent on

one more moment of simply

filling time and obligation,

but for forging boldly

into the forest of fate, fears, and

foreshadowing. If you don’t

pray earnestly for your own

deliverance from boredom,

then it just may be possible

that no one else will either.

and neither will anyone check to see

if you’re taken care of, too.