Perfect Peas

I came downstairs 

to find a sink of dishes

from yesterday.

Already I'm behind.

I started coffee because 

that is always first.

Then on to the dishes, while it brews;

ruminating on all I have to do.

A list of all the undone things

tapping on my brain.

I tried to organize my day.

What comes first? What is most important?

But outside my window

there are perfect peas.

They asked me to take their picture.

I told them I was too busy.

They asked me again. 

This time I wondered 

if I might make time. 

They really were so perfect. 

How do they look so

Each leaf, each blossom, each tendril;

this morning lined in glistening droplets.

Perfect peas.

While I was taking their picture,

they told me a secret. 

"We will be perfect, 

so that you won't have to." 

I went back inside.

The dishwasher running.

I drank my coffee

and wrote about perfect peas.


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