i measure my worth

in deer so at ease they’ll eat kale from the garden, less than five meters from my door

by a home-cooked meal eaten together, still hot

in heritage Jimson weed blooms on summer nights

& harvested, unblemished squash on autumn afternoons

in bats sighted overhead at dusk from the stoop

in thriving houseplants, all named and watered

in clean sinks, sheets, floors and birdbaths

by pages read, no matter

by the number of rabbits who see me and then ignore my presence

in folks, walking exhausted, or in rain, who accept my offer, climb into my truck with their groceries or booze for a lift home

in miles walked with the dog, and in my stilled patience as he interprets the “news” thoroughly with his nose

in native prairie plants restored, by my hand, New England asters, sweetgrass, have mercy,

in minutes spent on the phone with my son,
my golden boy

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