Wishing for Nothing
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Sitting on the other side of the room,
in my favorite chair, I listen to her
play Mendelson on the piano–
creating audible time and giving texture
to eternity–two hands passing melodies back
and forth, notes waving at one another. I’ve heard
that some patients in the operating room
hear orchestras playing their favorite symphonies
as they count down from ten.
I look up from my morning reading of Machado’s poems,
and see outside the window so much green,
I follow a leaf-hopper with my eyes,
the rainmaker has left town, and there are
strawberries ready for picking, I hear the light
of the sun coming down through the trees,
the density of my worries has lifted,
and the remembered self awakens, and thoughts
escape me, and that’s all to the good.
I am in the Pure Land wishing for nothing.