Don't Try to Call
By Anita Firebaugh
I will not answer the summons
to buy and shop, to spend and purchase
the products I do not need.
I will not heed the hue and cry
to partake of that which brings no fulfillment,
the ever-growing collection of things
which mean nothing but dust
collecting on shelves that mean nothing
because they are never seen.
Instead I will listen to the whispers
of wind as it sings through my windows,
Gaia calling out in her quiet voice.
I will feel the delicate softness
of a butterfly kiss from the insect
or a child or the skin of my lover's ankle,
The dirt in my palm
is money that brings me flowers
and beauty come sunshine in June.
With the noise turned off,
electronics thrust away,
I am content in the silence.