Naomi Shihab Nye: "Daily"

These shriveled seeds we plant,
corn kernel, dried bean,
poke into loosened soil,
cover over with measured fingertips
 

These T-shirts we fold into
perfect white squares
 

These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp strips
This rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl
 

This bed whose covers I straighten
smoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanket
and nothing hangs out

This envelope I address
so the name balances like a cloud
in the center of sky
 

This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it
 

The days are nouns: touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world

"Daily" by Naomi Shihab Nye, from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. © Eighth Mountain Press, 1994.  

Art credit: Detail from photograph of crispy tortilla chips, likely by amanda (originally color).