The clutching for love,
the donations from friends,
the webbing of acquaintance,
the presence of mourners.
All are sensed,
and gratitude professed.
Like tips in a diner.
Reflex affection, soul offerings
For life sustenance
And image food.
But whole lives are digested
without sensing that
Gratitude can only be tasted
because of the alms of strangers.
The go-ahead allowance,
the door kept open,
the theft not committed,
the louder voice for deafness,
the tolerance of oddity,
the slander not smirched,
the nameless help offered.
When standing on the backs
of unremembered strangers,
unthinking and unthankful,
there is the height of vision
to see the things
and people
we believe are meaningful.
# # #
Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had a hundred forty poems and stories published so far, and two books. Explore more at: http://www.swampgasworks.com
**photo credit: Terri Malone
Joy Mahar is an emergent writer living on the outskirts of Detroit. Her work has…
They received a much needed shower this morning: bare branches of trees, Fall's fallen crushed leaves,…
“Persephone is having sex in hell.” –“Persephone the Wanderer,” Louise Glück This isn’t hell, but…
“Again.” “Again.” “Again.” “Once more.” Her son slid down the wall onto the hallway floor.…
He told my Ma I was too young to know what a tumor felt like.…
“Don’t leave the backyard, Jodi!” “Okay, Mommy, I won’t!” That last conversation echoed in Sarah’s…
This website uses cookies.