I'm stringing together my gratitudes
like these unruly pre-schoolers I see
crossing the street in a snaking line,
tethered to each other by a strong
neon-green rope, protected from traffic
as they shout and strain to break away.
I count my blessings to keep them close:
this body, this house, this one heart
creaking open to let in the spring sun
as I say thank you to the black-capped
flashes of chickadees at the feeder,
to sudden sleet, and stones half-buried
in our yard, having melted the snow
from around their mossy skin, each one
now somehow warmer to the touch.
--James Crews
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