No Service

by Pam Burr Smith

The words “No Service” read across the top of my cell phone.
My laptop, after acting erratic, doesn’t respond at all.
The stuff, phone, computer, books, magazines, socks,
towels, sheets, the stuff that goes or needs washing,
sits in bags by the doors.
The keys, money, all I need to take with me from
place to place, loose on shelf near the door.

But not my soul.
My soul sits by that patient glass of new flowers,
the blooms missed by the foraging deer,
this morning’s blossoms gathered in wonder and gratitude
to live beside by the open window.