26. Ada Limón, poet

Most every morning, I start the day by doing the Wordle (today, got it in four: risky, crave, hoard, board), and eventually during the day I check in on Facebook and a little group I belong to, Today's Wordle, where we share our results. The practice is for someone to kick things off with a quotation—a snatch of a song or poem, usually. I enjoy looking up the phrase to find the fuller context. Today, it was this:

The Last Thing

by Ada Limón

First there was the blue wing
of a scraggly loud jay tucked
into the shrubs. Then the bluish-
black moth drunkenly tripping
from blade to blade. Then
the quiet that came roaring
in like the R. J. Corman over
Broadway near the RV shop.
These are the last three things
that happened. Not in the universe,
but here, in the basin of my mind,
where I’m always making a list
for you, recording the day’s minor
urchins: silvery dust mote, pistachio
shell, the dog eating a sugar
snap pea. It’s going to rain soon,
close clouds bloated above us,
the air like a net about to release
all the caught fishes, a storm
siren in the distance. I know
you don’t always understand,
but let me point to the first
wet drops landing on the stones,
the noise like fingers drumming
the skin. I can’t help it. I will
never get over making everything
such a big deal.
 

P.S. And once again I have to wonder why I continue numbering these, since I fell out of any "habit" of posting daily weeks ago. Maybe it's just to reach a goal, any goal. One hundred, here I come! Slowly but surely!