Your shoes are land mines left in ambush.
Sand from the cuffs of your pants
shuffles all over the house.
You leave sticky drips on the kitchen floor,
cabinet doors wide open,
newspapers splayed by the side of the bed
and whiskers in the bathroom sink.

But today, I celebrate these daily gifts
because I watch the calendar pages
flip faster as each day goes by.
Today, I sing a hymn to this holy mess,
today, I bless the evidence of you.

© by Tere Sievers.
Used with the author’s permission.