The World Keeps Offering Itself By Zoha Kashif Poem by Zoha Kashif

Outside, the maple held
its thousand green hands to the sky.
A dog barked at nothing
and was answered by another.
How strange,
this ordinary abundance.
After all we have carried:
the losses packed into our ribs,
the names we say less often now,
the long nights that seemed determined
to become forever.
The world keeps offering itself to us:
a pear ripening on a branch,
a dog curling around your legs,
the scent of rain before rain,
someone calling your name
with joy in it.