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Gratefulness
Last time I saw her—no kidding— she was descending from a beat-up Winnebago in the Sandhills just north of Hyannis, Nebraska, wearing blue, like always, except now it’s a wind-bleached denim sundress.
And this time there’s no halo except around everything in her vicinity: the kids pulling fish from the river, the fish themselves— their fins like pearly wings— the vials of wild plum wine someone has left in the shallows, cooling. The cooing pair of doves pecking at pebbles.
And when she shakes your hand it too starts glowing, not so you can see it, but so you know finally how good it is to have a palm and fingers. And all you want to do is spread that sheen on everything you can get your hands on,
to make it feel like it’s just been washed in brightest water as though it is a fish that dreamed itself into an angel.
From I Call to You from Time, (Wipf & Stock, 2019). Posted by kind permission of the poet.
I grew up in a family that did not tell the story. I am listening…
a body is always a body individual or collective (whole or in many pieces) alive…
Let plain things please you again and every ordinary Monday. Bean soup in a white…
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We are delighted to announce the release of Kristi Nelson’s book Wake Up Grateful