Vox Populi
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James Crews: I Keep the Window Open
Just standing at the window, looking out
at the pink crowns of vetch vines
that I have let overtake the lawn,
along with the daisies, and the wild
black-eyed Susans and a hundred others
I can’t name, thriving where the world
would rather see neatly clipped grass.
But what fun is that for crickets and bees
and the song sparrow who occasionally
lands on the very tip of some stalk
of overgrown weed gone to seed?
And don’t I have more pressing things
to accomplish besides standing here
like a king surveying his ragged empire,
noticing the tiny spider I’ve let live
in a corner of the window sill, his
intricate web having trapped a single
writhing ant he is just now wrapping
in silk for later, as I would love to
save every intact moment like this.
Listen, I have stood at the bedside
of my father, waiting for the good breath
to leave his weary body, I have watched
my mother turn blue with the struggle
to draw air into her ravaged lungs,
and keep it there. Life’s too fragile
to waste on money or importance,
handing over the hours that will never
be returned to us. And so I stand
for as long as I wish, keeping the window
open, so I can feel the ozone-scented
breeze blowing across my body.
Copyright 2023 James Crews
James Crews’s books include Bluebird (Green Writers Press, 2020) and The Path to Kindness: Poems of Connection and Joy (Storey Publishing, 2022).
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“I would love to
save every intact moment like this.” Me, too. ❤️
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Such a peaceful moment reading this!
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Yes, James’s poems have a simple wisdom that appeals to me.
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Sweet poem. Good luck to James Crews.
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Great poem James!
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Oh James, you are such a creature of hope. Thank you for this!!!
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Oh my gosh, I love this poem so much. And this reminder about what matters and what does not. It sound me at just the right time. Thank you, James.
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Ahem. It found me
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Yes, coffee in hand, I stand above my yard of native plants and some others, drought-tolerant, watch birds and bunnies (Tashi rarely even barks at them now) and admire, when they appear, the orb spiders’ artwork and the bees and butterflies who find refuge from the poison-sprayed or plastic lawns that surround us. However, I am well-bundled against the San Diego cold that my eastern friends would laugh at. Blame it on many years distinguishing winter from summer in Southern California, or maybe just a body that has seen many years.
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Thank you, Barbara!
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