The Blessing of Small Things
Cold snaps and the sky grows cloudy as night falls,
transparent clouds gather, gray and blustery ghosts.
I turn on lights in darkening rooms;
the dog comes in from outside, places his frozen nose
in my palms; I offer up the warmth of my skin
as he nuzzles and burrows in, licks my fingers
as if they were a juicy bone.
Earlier, walking through snow—everything iced over,
a V-formation of stray geese honking their surprise
lift up and away from the river.
The glossy red berries of white flowering dogwood
hang in clusters, their bright round globes
food for winter sparrows and further down our street,
faint childish laughter resounds—a snow fort being built.
Arriving home, thumping snow from boots,
I offer a simple prayer for my daughter
at her basketball game up north—words for
protection while navigating slippery roads.
There is warm soup, a pear, cheese—graceful
simplicities, a book waiting to be read,
and I am grateful for hands to rub my aching shoulders.
If today were an altar, I would place tokens before it:
a fishing float, a sock, a Popsicle stick, a foil wrapper
from a Hershey’s Kiss. I would ask only for life to be
filled with these quiet blessings, abundant with
small things—I offer thanks for all of this.
by Rosalie Sanara Petrouske whose most recent poems have been published in “Third Wednesday” and the “River Poets Journal”. She teaches writing at Lansing Community College, and facilitates a local writer’s group, Writing at the Ledges. “The Blessing of Small Things” was previously published in the Summer 2011 issue of “Parting Gifts”.
