The Art of Gratitude
Practice through blisters --
thank everyone, even the
undeserving. Count blessings,
give up the last slice. Patience for
yourself and others: phones off,
TV on mute. Let the kids play,
make messes that never get
cleaned up. Walk in the rain
after midnight. Sip slowly if the
glass is half full.
Crunch Time
By the time you wake,
I’ve made the decision to let you go.
Coffee gets made; proceed
as normal.
Mid-morning brings jagged
conversations, followed by silence
that would do a monk proud.
Main course after dinner –
more silence. We fill up. Then –
time for your drunken nap.
I should be close to the Missouri
border by the time you find the note.
My phone, off. You won’t call;
I know your pattern --
But mine has changed. White lines
bounce off the windshield;
the highway exhales down my neck.
I toss the phone out the window.
Seasonal
The spark between us cools,
but we’ll find it in the morning
Autumn leaves burning;
dry corn stalks clattering in
the wind
Our yard – a rust-colored
reminder of the cold war
headed our way
We find our sweet spot,
settle in and call a truce --
Allow our world to stop
and take a breath; no need
to spin into action
Cathy Porter’s poetry has appeared in Plainsongs, Homestead Review, California Quarterly, Hubbub, Cottonwood, Comstock Review, and various other journals. She has two chapbooks available from Finishing Line Press: A Life In The Day (2012), and Dust And Angels (2014), as well as two chapbooks published by Dancing Girl Press in Chicago: Exit Songs (2016), and 16 Days (2019). Her latest collection, The Skin Of Uncertainty, is now available from Maverick Duck Press. Cathy is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, and serves as a special editor for the journal Fine Lines in Omaha, NE, where she lives with her husband Lenny and their dog Marley, and cats Cody and Mini.
Practice through blisters --
thank everyone, even the
undeserving. Count blessings,
give up the last slice. Patience for
yourself and others: phones off,
TV on mute. Let the kids play,
make messes that never get
cleaned up. Walk in the rain
after midnight. Sip slowly if the
glass is half full.
Crunch Time
By the time you wake,
I’ve made the decision to let you go.
Coffee gets made; proceed
as normal.
Mid-morning brings jagged
conversations, followed by silence
that would do a monk proud.
Main course after dinner –
more silence. We fill up. Then –
time for your drunken nap.
I should be close to the Missouri
border by the time you find the note.
My phone, off. You won’t call;
I know your pattern --
But mine has changed. White lines
bounce off the windshield;
the highway exhales down my neck.
I toss the phone out the window.
Seasonal
The spark between us cools,
but we’ll find it in the morning
Autumn leaves burning;
dry corn stalks clattering in
the wind
Our yard – a rust-colored
reminder of the cold war
headed our way
We find our sweet spot,
settle in and call a truce --
Allow our world to stop
and take a breath; no need
to spin into action
Cathy Porter’s poetry has appeared in Plainsongs, Homestead Review, California Quarterly, Hubbub, Cottonwood, Comstock Review, and various other journals. She has two chapbooks available from Finishing Line Press: A Life In The Day (2012), and Dust And Angels (2014), as well as two chapbooks published by Dancing Girl Press in Chicago: Exit Songs (2016), and 16 Days (2019). Her latest collection, The Skin Of Uncertainty, is now available from Maverick Duck Press. Cathy is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, and serves as a special editor for the journal Fine Lines in Omaha, NE, where she lives with her husband Lenny and their dog Marley, and cats Cody and Mini.
