Vital Things

By Theresa Babylon

I'm making dinner and someone says,

   “How was your day?”

I say what I always say,

   “It was fine.”

I list my accomplishments as proof:

I paid some bills, did a few outdoor chores, ordered a gift, went to a doctor's appointment, tidied the kitchen, folded some laundry, did some research for my latest project.

I say these things as if they are important, 
vital. 

As if they validate my being here.

Why do I not say that I:

Was stilled by the screeching “kee-aah” of a red-shouldered hawk, performed a short interpretive dance in the laundry room while waiting for the dryer to buzz, sang a made-up lullaby to a purring tortie cat, thought of my grandmother as I gently swept crumbs from the tablecloth, smiled at a pale-faced stranger in a cold waiting room, witnessed a scarlet leaf twirling slowly to the ground.

I don't think most people want to hear about these things.  

But this is for you, in case you do.