Gratitude

When you said, seemingly out of the blue, 
but I do take care of you, the sentence
shifted the air and landed with a quiet 
weight. It asked me to consider how I 
may have been hard, how I may have 
sounded uncaring, or at least  
haven't thanked you enough. 

It reminded me that most of my life, 
I've tried to survive by tightening, 
by fiercely keeping close to myself 
or bracing to meet threats head-on, 
whether I was well-prepared or not. 
I am reminded of fragility, not 
in terms of ornament but as a condition 
also inherent to how we walk in the world. 

Last night, on the news: a man 
walked through a museum garden 
swinging at glass sculptures, 
reducing them to shards on the ground. 
What impulse was that, what was it 
to which he must have been brought 
to the brink saying no more, no farther?

So often we're told to make ready
in gladness, but prepare for the worst. 
Time doesn't bend easily, though there 
are times when it softens. Surely, 
even the most stoic must recognize 
the enormity of what 
can't be mastered. 

Today, for instance, the light 
is brilliant again, after heavy 
months of wind and winter. Just 
like that, it spills across the room, 
almost careless in its generosity. 
Whether or not we remember to praise, 
it asks only to be received.