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.
