Bless the bindweed spreading thready
    tentacles through the landscape and, some days,
        my heart.

Bless the bare dirt loosed by the drive, and the juniper roots loosed
    from the soil, and the juniper
    bush hacked to pieces
    (and bless me and the pruning saw, partners in Juniperus murder, and our furious glee).

Bless the imperfect kitchen with its chaos of pots,
both the useful and never used
(but a good idea at the time).

Bless the fold of fatty flesh, thicker on the left side
(I never understood why),
draping hip
to hip
sagging with more than
gravity's weight,
belying the presence of hip bones
(bless them too).

Bless my hair,
which is weirder than usual this week, for no apparent reason,
since even though Tuesday was my 64th birthday (bless me, 64!),
same day as my haircut,
my hair is much younger than that.

Bless the suspicious mole on my neck near the collarbone,
the spot on my foot that won't heal,
the doctor I'll see next week,
the lab that will run tests,
the computer that will beam results to me;
Bless the Band-Aid that will cover the incision spot.

Bless the blue sky that protects us,
a sweet bubble of pure spring even when
chaos shakes the ground,
bless the chaos,
bless the ground.


© by Judy Fort Brenneman.
Used here with the author's permission.