gratitude
rain pours
a persistent drum
on skylights
the uneven tattoo
a lullaby that soothes—
my heart yawns wide
as daybreak brightens
no wind, not yet
firethorn is still
rain, oh blessed rain
fill the reservoirs
crown the mountaintops
with yards of snow
spring’s new promise
valley farmers watch
fearful the manna
will slide away again
to water somewhere else
I’m not willing
to worry the future
worn stone in hand
no longer—
a lifetime of that—
instead praise what is
syncopated rhythm
on the roof
rain sheets down
cast off the
cloak
I put it there myself
to shroud blunt truth
into acceptable story
it seems rash to live
without it—
until I do
and look back
wondering—why?
life leans toward bittersweet
I turn to my lot
its cascade of grief
ailing child, health scare
and lost possibility
given a fistful
we all have something
I cast off the cloak,
that shield—
it didn't hide much
and weighed a lot
now I live raw
turn my face
to the pinging rain
feel that chill pour
down my cheeks
even let grief
break me wide
and love all of it
because this
this is what I have
Amrita Skye Blaine
writes poetry, fiction, and memoir, developing themes of aging,
coming of age, disability, and spiritual awakening. She received an
MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University in 2003. She has
published a memoir and two novels, and has been included in twelve
anthologies including four poetry anthologies. Her third novel comes
out in June. She has the practice of writing a poem every morning at
first light.
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