In 2021, I am thankful for: The word “NO.” Sleep. Petrichor. Compost. Memory. Barriers. Look(ing). Travel. Delete. Endings. Kneeling. Forgiveness. Soup. Order. Deadlines. Enough. Resilience. Community. Stillness. Collaboration. Science. Massage. Circles. Rehearsal. Acquaintances. Recipes. Dentists. And today… poetry.
Wait, what?
Why, yes, it is a bit weird that my ‘thirty days of gratitude poetry in November’ is coming to a close on the second of December. Right now, with my autoimmune sitting on my chest (back? head?), when embroidering makes me tired, late is as good as it gets. And that’s fine.
Why do I do this every year – try and write gratitude poetry for the thirty days of November? Don’t I get enough of this daily practice thing during National Poetry Month? Well, yes. But, I like the lack of Offical Poetry Month pressure and the focus that a daily challenge in November presents – the freedom to write doggerel if that’s what comes out (and in daily challenges, often it does), but the freedom to ignore the excuses and write about gratitude matter what I’m feeling like. I like the constant poking at myself to write the next one better. When the dark is coming down for the close of autumn, and I’m getting ready for my annual trip to “the morbs,” as Victorians flippantly named the more grim and contemplative moods, I need to take stock on the daily, and remind myself of what I have. As a country and as individuals we seem to be losing things – freedoms, civilities, certainties, things we’ve taken for granted – at an alarming rate. I needto remind myself of and give thanks for what remains. And – and this is especially true this month-plus-two-days – I like sitting back with a big whoosh of breath when it’s done.
The truth is – I like poetry. And since I can’t compose song – well, not the music bits, anyway – this is my song, and I’m grateful for it.
poetry is
a bright stitch threading
the taut circle of our days
flashing silver grace