Thanksgiving Tradition: Gratitude Poem 2021

Every year, in November, I write a poem composed of all of the gratitude words I kept track of in my blog throughout the year. This year's poem:

Today, I am grateful for Sundays with Sam,
We are staying in, we are walking, we are going out to brunch with friends,
Outside at Sage and Cinder, overlooking the lighthouse,
We are glowing, golden, soaked in autumn light.

Tomorrow, I am grateful for power, water, electricity,
We are always staying in, shelter above, comfort below,
Outside, a new roof, a playful lawn, and shiny gutters,
We are painted tricorn black and extra white in autumn light.

Many autumn mornings, I am alone reading,
Book One: Miss Brooke and Susan Palwick’s stories,
In a quiet room of my own, reading and writing poetry,
I have listened to music with calm restraint.

Many autumn afternoons, I am held by spaniels in my lap, 

Weighted by a spring green book with gold and silver, too,

In a quiet room of my own, tricorn black and extra white poppets, 

I have cleared retrieve with slow progress and calm restraint. 

One spring morning, I am patient admiring my feet, 

Donned in gathered flowers and beautiful trinkets, 

At the movies, we ate no-cheese popcorn and entered realms, 

We are waiting for fantasy and friends, love and wild music, to return. 

One spring afternoon, I was grateful for antibiotics, 

Aware of great words, art, and education, 

At the movies, we had all the time in the world to be inspired, 

We are making rituals which call love and wild music to return. 

Today, I am injured asking for assistance, inspiration, 

Grateful for mobility and heft, healing and health, 

Knowing that I have not been grateful for the night, 

I have not cared for winter, nor summer, nor sleep. But, the moon! 

Tomorrow, I am weeping tears for bodily autonomy, 

Grateful, too, for chivalrous kindness and every morally-lovable being, 

Wishing good fortune for every reader, every book, 

I have not embraced serenity or silver, yet. But, the moon!