Blessed be the curly-haired lady at Penn Station
who directed me to my train in a sea of angry
trenched coats. Blessed be Brazilian hatchet fish
that leap the lake together for a snack of gnats.
Blessed be juice and raspberry vodka.
Blessed be the first day of the year for sandals.
Blessed be driftwood with mysterious eggs
Inside. Blessed be Tess the 50ft. Woman
with Visible Organs standing outside of Los Angeles.
I pulled over because of her neon sign,
the postcards, the t-shirt possibilities—
& had the cup of coffee that kept me driving
in between the lines. Blessed be the eunicids,
the tiny sea worms mouthing on bits of sand
& shell thanklessly at night, spitting up whole
platforms for the Great Barrier Reef to spread.
Blessed be any mother with cancer spots
on an otherwise perfectly milky x-ray. Ghost
of a heart large & light, just a trace of her supple arms,
a wedding ring. The silence of children studying
the delicacy of a new fern, the crispy gift-foil around
each potted plant. The silence of waiting by her bed.
© Aimee Nezhukumatathil
