Simple Actions
Heidi Williamson

The year begins badly, worse
even than the last; a historic
outcast. 1914, ’39; hell-bent
years build their fires
beneath our days. We honour
the past, commemorate
what we hope to outlive.
The air is cold and clear.
The trees don’t know
what hits them when the dregs
of the storm fly by, wrenching
tender-grown leaves from nodes.
The days are getting lighter,
but the mornings feel harder
to access. I wake with heavy bags
beneath my eyes. What poisons
am I unwittingly feeding
my child today? Years from now
we might understand
the implications of some
of even our most simple actions.
I hesitate to wake. But hesitation
lets those awake already
go out into the day and stake it.
My son is learning to type.
From the terror of the playground
to the insecurities of darkness
he chooses each letter with care:
"Friendship and love are the best things
in life they are they are it is true
it is true who ever reads
you should believe this."