Kindness

Last week, a nurse pulled a warm blanket

from a magical cave of heated cotton

and lay it upon my lap, even wrapping

my feet. She admired my red sandals. 

Once, a friend brought me a chicken

she'd roasted and packed with whole lemons.

I ate it with my fingers while it was still warm.

Kindnesses appear, then disappear so quickly

that I forget their brief streaks: they vanish,

while cruelty pearls its durable shell.

Goodness streams like hot water through my hair

and down my skin, and I'm able to live

again with the ache. Love wakens the world.

Kindness is my mother, sending me a yellow dress in the mail

for no reason other than to watch me twirl.

Anya Silver, singingbowl.org August 19, 2018