Sometimes you give in to the tears,
to the need to take to the bed,
maybe weep there, or sleep.

But if you can, the little voice nudges,
get up. The cat needs feeding,
and if there’s no cat,

put out some water for the birds
in the backyard, maybe some seed,
if you have it,

and just stand in the last
throes of summer, still warm
but not hot,

feeling the long grass tickle
the sides of your flip-flopped feet.
Maybe squirt those feet

as you take up the hose to give
the plants that have summered
on the deck a drink, too.

Soon they will need to move
to the covered front porch or
winter inside, but now,

like you, they wait in silence
for the next thing that
none of us can discern,

which is just as well.
You are not as alone
as you think.

Someone else has the sads, too.
Someone may be reaching
out to you right now—

look for them in the backlit
droplets showering the grass,
winking at you,

still here. Still blessedly here.