Ruth Schreiber

Gratitude

for the slice of light rising at dawn
for the bird chatter and dustmen’s trucks
for even five hours of unmedicated sleep
for the a/c, quiet and cool
and the accessible bathroom en suite

for the eyes that still read, although tearing
for the ears that still listen, through the tinnitus
for the legs that still carry me up the hills
for the knee op holding up
with only twinges as reminders

for the shot in the foot which helps me to walk,
the shot in the wrist which diminished the pain
and enabled the plough in yoga again

it all helps to process the six girlfriends
whom I have lost already this year