Good Enough

Hello friends, age has a way of encouraging me to be more honest in everyday things. This includes even answering simple questions such as “how are you doing?” The young grocery clerks smile or look surprised when I answer at the counter with “… good enough.” At home later I touch the kwanzan cherry planted years ago in the garden, now sick but brimming with blossoms. The garden Buddha winks and reminds me, in the spirit of Teilhard de Chardin, to be the tree, the kingdom here as well as there: Good enough. Good enough.

“Good Enough”

Grocery clerks seem surprised with “good enough,”
but “good” would be a lie,
and “not good” unacceptable as I wait
to swipe my card with Mr. Fatigue going strong.
.
“Good enough” draws a smile from the perplexed young,
willing to bank it for a later time
when energies ebb in unexpected ways,
a glass half full or half empty.

Later I touch the kwanzan cherry
I planted many years ago,
sick now with peeling trunk,
but brimming with blossoms above,
ready to spring pink and white,

while the garden Buddha winks
and reminds with love
to be the tree, breathing in and out,
the kingdom here, nirvana here.

Or I remember my old Siamese Max
still singing medieval madrigals
from the balcony just before lights out,
to applause from his family,

no need to audition at Julliard,
good enough, good enough, good enough.