Blue Thanksgiving

 

I started my day not

with prayer or

a serenity walk

but by driving to a friend’s house

to weep and pet her dogs.

 

Some days are just like that.

 

The first blessing comes

in the ability to ask

“Can I come over?”

in a voice so much like your own 5-year-old self

you break your own heart.

 

The second blessing comes

in the acceptance,

“Sure, see when you get here.”

 

The third blessing comes

from venting,

sharing grief, doubt, pain,

fear.

 

The fourth is nestled

under Memaw’s afghan –

the listening heart,

the loving presence.

 

Finally, the gratitude comes,

in the knowing

that you can reach out, can feel,

be part of something holier

than thou

only

because

of

the

pain.

 

 

Image

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About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Blue Thanksgiving

  1. Jennifer Hay says:

    Brilliant poem! I love how it fades out, almost like you’ve cried yourself to sleep! Thanks for posting this! Jen

  2. beautiful; have we all had days like these, when we are thankful for friends with dogs?

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