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Gratefulness
He has flown headfirst against the glass and now lies stunned on the stone patio, nothing moving but his quick beating heart. So you go to him, pick up his delicate body and hold him in the cupped palms of your hands. You have always known he was beautiful, but it’s only now, in his stillness, in his vulnerability, that you see the miracle of his being, how so much life fits in so small a space. And so you wait, keeping him warm against the unseasonable cold, trusting that when the time is right, when he has recovered both his strength and his sense of up and down, he will gather himself, flutter once or twice, and then rise, a streak of dazzling color against a slowly lifting sky.
Posted by kind permission of the poet. This poem first appeared in Rattle #70, Winter 2020.
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s…
What would you do if you really knew that life was wanting to sing through…
Thank you for this day made of wind and rain and sun and the scent…
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