Tag Archives: Saints

Poem: Litany of Gratitude


Litany of Gratitude

I failed to look at the weather reports,
and now I’m ankle-deep in snow
staring above me at white sheets of snowfall, like paper
curtaining my memory in the open street.

There are no sad snow moments for me,
even when there should be. I am only grateful
for the alls and everythings I’ve known,
that I have friends who can knit hats
or produce scarves, socks, all cozy chic;

that I was not born to dig for copper,
or in the malarial sectors of our history,
that luck has placed me in a retrospective personality
surrounded by a box of mirrors,
that I am not the kind of person to scorn
such blessings as a given but as icy coincidence
no more deserved than a cracked skull on a freeway
over sleek, glossy, cold-kissing pavement;

that my new tiny watch fits my wrist
an hour ahead of the friend who put it there
so I can send postcards from the future:
a storm is coming, wrap up warm,
this orange slice of time is serene, I hope you’ll enjoy it;

that simple things make me whimsical,
that it is right that we should at all times and in all places
be whimsical, that the possibility of giggling
is as real as the dance of snowflakes on our tongues;

that snow is not stupendous but soft,
not a knighthood adorned in force
but a book whose pages are whitened sidewalk squares
recording the theologians and cops and the homeless,
the students and plumbers and construction workers,
farmers in heavy boots, bankers in leather shoes,
sheet after sheet of snow, and feet making brief prints in time,
like a ferocious typewriter, as we move
in search of someplace else, something soon, out of the snow;

that I have enough ego to record the sainthood of passerby,
all of them leaving a mark that will melt,
just as this poem will dissolve soon enough
into anti-syllabic nonsense. Still,
I am grateful for these blessings
and the tumultuous motion of others
stamping their feet where I stand, numb,
staring at the snow-forlorn sidewalk
giving sidelong glances to the saints.