by Aleda Shirley

    Taxes due， the anniversary of Henry James's death，

    & a brilliant sky rinsed¹ of pollen² & glare by yesterday's

    record rain. From the magnolia in my front yard

    the Mexican workers who are here to fix

    the foundation of my house have hung their lunches

    in grocery bags-they look like large dull light bulbs

    that have burned out. When the foreman leaves

    on an errand I see the youngest worker struggling to pull

    a water hose to the back. Through the window

    I tell him there's another hose in the garbage that will reach，

    but he doesn't understand a word I'm saying. Finally

    I point & say aqua & all six of them brighten

    with comprehension， although I realize later I used

    the Latin work， not the Spanish one. The house

    was slowly sinking， stairstep cracks along the brick，

    fractures in the plaster， the floor of the back bedroom

    sloping three inches； one night， we heard a huge crash：

    the window frame so distorted the glass shattered

    in jagged shards³， transparent⁴ puzzle pieces

    on the fruitwood table. Later， after the holes

    have been dug， the forsythia & sweet olive bent⁵

    out of the way， the lunches eaten， they jack⁶ the house up

    & it shudders⁷ & pops， the cats head for somewhere

    dark & safe， & before I figure out what's going on

    I wonder if the workers are playing soccer

    on the roof or if there's an earthquake. By dusk

    they're mixing mortar⁸， repointing brick， & in the yard

    a grackle， a bluejay， & two cardinals⁹ peck

    at the damp grass. I'd love to draw some lesson

    from this， that things we can't see hold us up

    & it's possible for those things to be repaired.

    But I don't buy it； I think how you are

    is how you are， that the level of joy or meaning

    on the most ordinary Wednesday afternoon

    is the level of joy or meaning you're stuck with.

    Years from now I'll think of the lunches hanging

    from the tree & how at the end of a long day

    I heard music in the foreign recognizable sounds

    of the workers calling to my neighbor's dog.

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