10.7.25blessings, like
after 10/7/23 the sound of the dishwasher and the remaining half of a pint of cream, and
clean socks and enough contact lenses for the next however-many-months,
and an unopened can of cat food, and cloudless afternoons and the fact
of zinnias in the garden still, and a day warm enough for t-shirts. Blessings like
Lauren’s apple scones, and plenty of ink in the printer, and the exclamation
in Jeanette’s text message after the word “Saturday.” Also, the moon cakes
I’ve never tried but will, soon. Blessings like that. And the bowl of curry last
night, and the long walk back home when we laughed about how much
our hips ached. And amarena cherries with their stems still on. Blessings
like hands making things from scratch even when it takes longer. Blessings
like taking longer. And a new stack of Post-It Notes. And all those pens
in the junk drawer. And ice cream. Blessings like how my heart, just now,
feels like it’s falling apart. And how it does and doesn’t and then it does
and it doesn’t again. Blessings like a house in a dessert smelling of citrus, and
someone thatching a roof out of palm leaves, and where there might have been
a door there is no door.
© Maya Stein
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