Least Complicated

Sometimes I go about pitying myself,

and all the time I am being carried

on great winds across the sky.

—Ojibway saying

Sometimes I lose it like the keys

to the car left in my old jeans after

that long walk through the pines when

I fell into the marsh and the keys were all

muddy, caked in my pocket, tossed in the

washing machine. Then you called and there

was dinner and the bills. And I couldn’t find

them and felt that rush of loss as if I’d left

my heart out in the rain and it washed away.

How will I get anywhere? Where will I look

for my heart? It never really goes anywhere

just deeper within like a turtle pulling back

into its shell when I frighten it. We carry it

in us like a glass of water balanced just above

the heart and then we rush and spill it which

doesn’t feel quite right either. But when I’ve

made my mess and tossed the keys and lost

my heart and spilled the fullness I carry

on everything, somehow then I am brought

back. Then I ache for the courage to simply

feel what I can’t understand. Then I watch

the rain and brush the mud from my eyes.

It’s been in my pocket the whole time.