Blue Genes

A poem about gratitude. Somehow.

Morning Red by Roger Blonder

The red dead flower weed
rests on my leg
clinging to my blue jeans

I tried to count the leaves and rocks
the seeds and ants

There were too many
So I asked for the help of the generations

They just exclaimed
in unison
“It is Us!”

Every nerve in my face
appreciates the breeze
My dancing nose hairs
sentries to sense
and the neurons in my brain
that enable my ears to know
all express gratitude
fortunate
grounded
in the roots
of my blue genes