Maru Mori

Maru Mori¹

To rise from bed on legs still working,
to feed the cats before making coffee,
and open the door to the dark back porch
without fear of falling or a lurking predator.
To bend and lift a heavy pot to the stove
and choose to cook or not, easy in the ways
of browning and braising, slicing onions,
eyeballing spices. To live in peace.
in gratitude for peace, for quiet, without

bombs near or in the distance, no stalker,
no spurned or power hungry man in a rage,
who feels entitled to anything he wants.
To hold with both hands and relish a mug
of hot coffee, without hunger or longing,
with only hope for these comforts for anyone
who wants them, tea with milk if they prefer,
the choice of pancakes or waffles later. Eggs
and flour on the counter, the power still on.

Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self. Her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Comstock Review, Prairie Schooner, Slant, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.