deadnettle

i mourn the loss
of what i remember as the richness of daily life,
coming and going.

the dynamics that make it flow:
loud/quiet, in/out, work/home, empty/full
drowned out by the constant din
of the demands on a mother,
shelter in place.

but i see under foot
the deadnettle blooming
sometimes blurry with sadness
or laser-sharp in gratitude.
i say, the only thing
i needed more of
was this.
and the rainbow in a pot of lentils, a million shades of brown

do you think the birds
can convince my panicked heart
to stay and love?