Pilgrimage to the Corner Store (or Winter Ode to Joy)

The first yellow crocuses smiled up at me this bright February morning in Georgia. I feel a twinge of survivors guilt for all my friends and family braving the cold and snow up North. Here's a poem I wrote in Philadelphia in February 2010 while seven months pregnant with baby four. Our sink was full of dishes, two feet of snow covered the ground and there was a blizzard outside. My husband could have gone to the corner store to buy the dish soap; but I needed desperately to get out of our messy child filled home. I know that it is possible to wash dishes without dish soap. But oh, for a few moments alone and for that squeaky clean gleam, I was willing to do anything. So, I left them at home to embark on foot, the only way to go.

Gleaming bottle on the shelf

A remedy to heal myself

Ultra concentrated Joy

One yellow lemon scented squirt

is all I need to banish dirt

or rather dried and crusting grits

milky pools and bacon bits

I clutch and pay and leave the store

to face the snow outside the door

The two block walk feels like a mile

At myself I have to smile

Huddled waddling

through knee deep snow

that has not ceased to fall and blow

to frost my glasses, freeze my nose

as steadily I trudge toward home

On my snowy path I plod

and utter silent thanks to God

who knows and grants his children’s wishes

I now have soap to wash the dishes