A poem today.

Entropy: A Physics Lesson From my Family

I climbed to the treehouse

To fix the clothesline.

It had come off the wheel.

Up the rickety ladder

It was a quick job

While a blanket lay damp on the porch.

Before I climbed down I checked.

Inside the door was a bushel

At least

Of pine needles

Collected in a winter of neglect

The clever window board

Left propped open

As if last August

Had never ended.

Bits of sap have collected on the deck

Just enough to remind me

The tree’s wood is still alive

And the house is a guest

In its branches.

At the top of the ladder

I looked down at the yard

My little dog

The one I bundled in my jacket

Said I’d “find him a good home”

Two years ago: a family joke.

He sleeps between us in our bed

And protects us from home invasion

By our closest friends.

My little dog was rolling in the grass

A sunny spot where cut blades were mulching

Trying to take along

Some special smell

I could never comprehend.

Bugs churn in sunbeams

The green has exploded

This one sunny day

In a rainy June.

I’ve worked hard for this house

This tree

This family

The kids who are safe

Enough to be bored

On a blue-sky Saturday.

But the laundry sits.

A comforter still damp on the back porch

Waits for me to make use

Of the fleeting dry air.

I’m still drying

Or drying again

The one from last week

That I never brought in.

Things fall apart.

This we know.

A rainy June

Gives days of beauty

Sometimes when you can use them.

Even if it’s only to dry laundry.

Out on the line.