Blessed
Blessed
Blessed is the standard
greeting. Blessed. Good. Nothing much. Maintaining. Between
blinks I bark blessed behind dressed down dropped ball truths.
Hard enough to find footing as it was. As it is.
History too quick for these kicks, no
process
button on the brain, no off switch either.
Therapy of Meter and ink blots. Feel a loss before I hear about it– The gut is never really wrong
No process button, just an anvil
on Go! Where will we go if we
live to tell stories of surviving cataclysms that cost
more than words? Cost more than lives, more than we can even fathom.
How are you?
Landmine labyrinth laid bodies on bodies in
bags and big black trucks, and a trip to the store
is a mission now, not quite far from fear of being the next
body. You ask me how I am and
I am blessed for I can breathe winds
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of new days in young lungs, and I
can see sins of old worlds from a bird’s eye and do
better.
Blessed to know love loves me, and
blessed enough to know how to love love back.
It took me a while. Blesséd are the meek,
blesséd are the weak, forgive them — they are blessed to know not what they do, ignorance is bliss and bliss is blessed I suppose.
Blessed because the next thing. We ran out of blessings
a few trap doors ago, but there’s hope in walking by faith,
blessed to build what I consider safe and
sound more sincere
on sinister days when you take the time
to pluck your olive branch,
bump me,
blink.
Well?
Blessed.
(Published in Light and Shadow literary magazine May ‘26)
