“The color of gratitude is the sound of understanding”
Lay it down, this one time. What has beaten you
will one day be some new strange food. Will be
like nothing you are after in this moment.
Go another hour if you can,
lay pit against palm,
call your mother’s name-
give permission to nothing greater
than the smallest memory.
Stretch it until the finest lines
grow on their own.
Light in the room
you had been left to fend for yourself in,
We have no winter grounds,
no favorite stores, best dishes,
here. So lift only voice
which comes when it comes, so unwilling,
broken by need, plant and row
in the hydra, say a few kind hello’s.
Believe that there might be something underneath,
a small town you can remember, forget,
This one time,
it will be in you-
to walk steadily, full bodied, away-
and toward lasting rest.