The Wrong Foot

(after reading Alice Walker)

Having gotten off the bed on the wrong
footing, stepped on a nail or the nail clipper
you dropped last night, the day resembles
a splattering of nails clippings.

Swearing at red lights till your last breath,
missed buses, and skipped two meals in
defiance of hunger, fists curled in anticipation
of dropping bottles.

Look! There is but the clear canvas of sunset
that God’s painted, if you care to crane your
neck burdened with a cynic’s rage for spiders.

One got into your drawer, weaved
a web for residence. You slashed the web
yet spared the critter, so there is a drop
of mercy in the heart still raging

with waterfalls. Look! The sun’s dipped
its gold head into velvet pools of night.
Softly, your head rests amongst the moss-
hole of your pillow.