Duckweed
The smallest flowering plant.
Last night,
A full moon
In the bedroom
Window.
This morning,
Winter sunlight
Bathes the southern
Eaves.
I have worried
About living
This short life
For so long
And still
It remains,
This house
Of half-done things.
But the duckweed
Out at the fringes
Knows how
To survive,
Knows how a single
Root can cover
The pond
With flowers.
And down by
The drought-
Drawn creek,
Old cedars
And pines
Along the banks,
The tendrils
Of their roots
Searching for
The meaning
Of life, have
Not yet learned
That we are
So destined
To come up
Dry yet
Continue
To live
In our own
Innocent worlds
Like sparrows
Among sweet
Grass in the presence
Of a hawk.
Richard Luftig is a former professor of educational psychology and special education at Miami University in Ohio and now resides in California. His poems have appeared in numerous literary journals in the United States and internationally in Canada, Australia, Europe, and Asia. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart prize and two of his poems recently appeared in Realms of the Mothers: The First Decade of Dos Madres Press. His latest book of poems will be forthcoming from Unsolicited Press in 2019. More of his poetry, blog and other information can be found on his website: RichardLuftig.com.