Finally Grateful for the Ever Exhausting In-between
a poem about enjoying life before you know where it lands
One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Fifty.
As uncomfortable as it is — at least we don’t have proof
that the cat is dead and alone
in a box.
Frozen there in frozen air,
even if after, they crash and crumple
into hard ice and soft snow as bulbs flash and glow—
the skier is actually flying.
Free from all terrible truth
(except love and gravity)
Still, time keeps falling down stairs
and bridges and roads burn up and close
often for good
as they should
Before they do, please sit here with me
at the crucible crossroads and appreciate the view.
The little pastel picture of possibility sure to fade
still so beautiful now.
How good it feels to let go of wheels
crash or cruise or drift into Eden
even after we hit the ramp and are hanging helplessly there
in the unformed air.