If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden’s dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
From Against Which. Copyright © 2006 by Ross Gay. Reprinted by kind permission of CavanKerry Press Ltd.
The self you leave behind is only a skin you have outgrown. Don’t grieve for…
Who wouldn’t choose the just-washed white of this Aspire scripted with eighteen small miles on…
Let’s thank our mistakes, let’s bless them for their humanity, their terribly weak chins. We…
This site is brought to you by A Network for Grateful Living, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit. All donations are fully tax deductible in the U.S.A.
© 2000 - 2019, A Network for Grateful Living
Website by Briteweb