Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Gratitude (Poem 239)

Three days ago, the sun 
shone. We were filled with joy 
at the sight of it. Yesterday, too,
it woke us, brilliant light slanting 
through the blinds, and we 
smiled back. Today, when 
a furtive cloud caused a few 
moments of dimness, we scowled. 
"Oh, no!" we cried.
Gratitude is a demanding mistress. 
What would happen if 
you were as charmed the 
thousandth time he opened 
the car door for you 
as you were on your first date?
How would the world change if, 
when she bakes your favorite 
chocolate cake on your birthday
once more, you tell her you are 
astonished, and grateful? 
If what seems common and 
to-be-expected are, in reality, 
nothing more than abundant 
miracles we have not earned, 
do not deserve? This joy
that hauled you out of despair
is, like all things, impermanent--
it does not belong to you.
Open your heart to the coquette 
who, ignored, robs you of wonder,
and you will find her, instead,  
a generous and loyal friend, who 
--when you've forgotten today's
good fortune--will sit with you,
spread an album across your knees,
and show you her pictures.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

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