Thank-You Notes

           . . . let me paint a thank-you on my palm . . .
                                                           Anne Sexton

This May morning as sunrise
turns my kitchen window to stained glass,
I paint thank-yous
on the palm of my hand,

thanks for the tulip that opened
red cups to receive sun and rain,
and for violets I transplanted from Grandmother's,
now blooming in my yard,

gratitude that I don't have to rise
like Grandfather did on cool mornings
to stoke dying ashes in a coal furnace
to resurrect the fire that heated the house,

and for the spin cycle on the washer
that saves me from the task
of wringing water from skirts,
shirts, shorts, towels and sheets.

I paint thank-yous on my palm
for the mother I saw at Panera yesterday
breaking bread, giving more than half to her son,
reminding me of my mother's generosity,

for the tune my husband whistled
as he came down the stairs,
his hugs, and for the "Pickles" cartoon
in the paper that makes us laugh.

All day, keep me from taking things for granted:
spring flowers, running water, indoor plumbing,
vacuum sweepers, phone calls from my daughters.
Keep me painting thank-yous on my palm.

Wilda Morris, yourdailypoem.com