Terry Hertzler’s “An Indication I May Be an Optimist,” published in the 28th volume of Perigee (sadly, their last for the foreseeable future), is an excellent way to start your day. (You may also want to hit that link and check out some of Perigee‘s other lovely poetry selections, including “It’s Early Yet” by Michael Nieman and “Mouse” by Michael Hettrich.)
You may also accompany it with a cup of coffee, black, fresh from your french press. Oh, and you’ll need a spot of sun, a breeze or two. You’re welcome.
An Indication I May Be an Optimist
Inside my condo, books and magazines
sit in unstable piles, dust bunnies swirl
under my kitchen table, letters from my
credit union demand immediate action
to prevent repossession or foreclosure,
and some kind of black crud is growing
in my toilet.
In Washington, politicians do nothing
as usual, except blame the opposition.
My TV mumbles of some celebrity
having another affair. Unemployment
remains in double digits. I wake
a half-dozen times each night to pee,
and almost nothing I eat tastes good.
Yet, this afternoon, I’m standing
in our courtyard, just standing here
breathing, air smelling of new leaves
and the promise of flowers, and I’m smiling,
eyes closed, sun on my eyelids like warm
loving fingers as I glide through the belly
of this ridiculous, gorgeous day.