Gratitude

The traffic on Grand drones, a flow
And a thread, and a part of what enters,
With the weather. I am alone and in debt,
To this pill, but not the other—I owe time
A smile, she’s still treading water, beside me.

I lost love, then spied it cross-eyed,
On the other side of town. I hold my daughter
Now, while she lets me. Even the books
On the floor were waiting patiently,
For me to find them, to finally catch their hum.

The buses grumble, but still stop. I am
Convinced, that those I elected, are trying.
The pantry guy doesn’t mind, if I come in
More than twice a month. The seamstress, sad,
Offered a paperclip for free, and the zipper works.

The brothers at the center listen, when I speak,
Because I listen when they speak, then offer coffee.
We know the same songs. I do not blame
My caseworker for the bureaucratic fog
She must stumble through daily, because she must eat.

This fall, the city rebuilt the pond and fountain,
In the park, across from my building. I didn’t expect
Them to, but they did it, anyway. I don’t know
If my dog has noticed the fountain, but my daughter
Noticed that Gingko trees, smell like Cheese-Whiz.