“Find a Better Job”

crocus

Now
That
All your worry
Has Proved such an
Unlucrative
Business,
Why
Not
Find a better
Job.

~ Hafiz , trans. Daniel Ladinsky

Yes, why not indeed?

I found a better job than worry. In your arms, in our bed, in the afternoon.

I found a better job than worry. With benefits one doesn’t dream of.

Daytime naps and morning walks. Everywhere I go and everything I do is related to my job.

Worry cost me dearly. A debt that doubled with every shallow breath, every cry of panic to deaf heavens.

But I’d invested so much. How could I just walk away from worry? Didn’t I owe it an explanation?

Without a word of notice, I changed my number and my name. When I got a better job, I had to block worry from reaching me to insist my services were needed.

Don’t be ridiculous, I’d have said. No one is indispensable in the worlds of worry and work.

That’s when I poured another cup of coffee and went from a walk on the lucrative business of slow, of the first cluster of crocuses just down the street — white, green, purple, hopeful — and requiring no special sales pitch or marketing strategy.

See? They don’t hesitate to push through. The light, even in this skewered climate, returns.

Get a better job? I did. (Worry tried to shackle itself to my pant leg, so I removed my pants. Easy as that.)

What more can there be to say? Leave the heap of defeated failure and let it whither, go on your way.

I’ll be watching the buds bring trees back from the dead. I’ll be doing my job and minding my own lucrative business. There’s a three in five chance I’ll be napping if you stop by.

Look for the chains I kicked to the curb. Feel free to take them away for good.

**

Poetry, some say, is not a lucrative business. But how do you define lucrative?
Join me for a month of poems as meditations and music and (if you choose) prompts to get your own pen moving. 
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