Alien to my thoughts, is gratitude.
I’m forgetting in the dazzle of gifts
That they are not simply falling
I take it for granted, the voices, hands and some snow sparkling on a Saturday morning.
Not gratitude, but complacency rests on my eyes.
And I’m looking through a foggy lens.
In the cafe dish pit, as water steams into muffin tins
In this unlikely place I remember
The memory of other times
When gratitude was my hammered, daily task…
…the task which leads to joy.
In the bubbles I was reminded of clear sight, light to the blind man
And when I turn in the center of my life
I see a little girl reading to her brother
Pudding in an ancient china bowl
Looked for emails arriving bold in my inbox
Getting work done to the tune of bribery french fries
Kisses blown across the longing space of a country
A soft blanket
The thoughts, like riding a bicycle, are not easily unlearned.
Instead they find room in my heart, a building and warming so that gratitude
Will no longer be a stranger.