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Gratefulness
When I returned Noe to the earth and she sent
her staccato of sweetness up into the unending sky,
I was not yearning for more than I was given.
Then the blueberries got to chattering all along
the lattice of the deck and you rose from your empty
decade, your margin of darkness to reach a bracken arm in.
Volunteer is what they call it when a plant chooses you.
I did not know how to be chosen. You showed me how the husk
of an old life becomes a chorus. You showed me receiving
could be as simple as holding up my empty hands.
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
. . . and silence is the golden mountain. —Jack Kerouac Listen. Turn everything off….
“This prayer from the Rwala Bedouin people belongs to a richly complex ritual performed by…
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s…
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We are delighted to announce the release of Kristi Nelson’s book Wake Up Grateful