Today I practice gratitude.
Little children practice writing
by repeating letters
on creamy paper
over
over  and
over again
until the page
is filled to the rim
like an overflowing bottle.
I lay in bed
in the morning
turn my eyes to the ceiling
and repeat
a list
of things
I am grateful for.
The sun shining
on the windows
making them seem like mirrors.
Wet soil
which is going to grow
new crops in summer.
The skin which covers me
and keeps me intact.
The promise
of the morning
that I might get it right today.
I lay down
in silence
obedient as a piece
of furniture
and embroid
gratitude
on my static body
in all the colors I cannot see.
I embroid it until it covers me whole.
Until it gulps up any shadow
whispering nightmares.
I practice gratitude
thought by thought
until it becomes
instinctive
immediate
like blinking
like swallowing
like thinking.