12: Comfort - Dec 2021

Sunday Gratitude

Things I am grateful for today:

i. lipstick smudges. 
wrinkled bed sheets.
morning sunrises my partner wakes me up to see
before soothing me back to sleep. 
day old decarbonated seltzer.
houseplants that misbehave.
pickles and less notably pickle juice. 
eyes that are unable to exist fully in the world of the asleep or 
of the awake so they droop at the start of the day.

ii. the first smell of winter air leaving the cellar 
hanging out suspended between trees.
wet pavement.
domes of mulch.
picnic tables but not picnics.
cloudy skies. 
the man who makes my coffee, and calls me by my name.
how when he does that, I am reminded of my existence.

iii. my record player. 
being a digital child who does not know the proper etiquette for caring for records.
the bickering that precarious placement in time starts with my mother. 
maybe a critical theories class
but more likely the ideas that are born there and the way being there makes me feel 
the word alfalfa. 
the word eclectic but only if the speaker can hit all of the consonants in the back of their throat.

iv. grey nail polish.
the weird symphony that cicadas and crickets make together.
people who like listening to nature’s music.
semi melted ice cream.
pumpkins anytime except for in the fall.
good art, and I don’t think I’ll tell you what I mean by that.
grapes that crunch.
the knowledge that a group of crows is called a murder. 

v. how the wind sometimes sounds like rain.
notice I haven’t listed the sun.
freshly cut grass but only the way it smells never how it feels on my skin
unless I am forgetting I exist and then the itch is nice.
ice clinking. 
perspiring cups. 
mason jars.
beat up notebooks 
I am trying to feel the same about new notebooks.

vi. disappearing into the wrinkled hands of something greater than me.
cutting the ribbons that tied me to guilt.
the expanse I have crossed
and how now looking back I can see how small it all was, all along.
not knowing what expanse I stand on the edge of now.

Things I am not grateful for today: 

vii. roman numerals but that is for another poem. 

- Isabelle King

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