Things That Are Always Here
My breath,
as close as always can be.
More right than wrong;
I am breathing.
I am here.
Sounds,
for as long as my hearing holds out.
There are noises:
a passing train, trees creaking in the wind,
my breath,
cats purring, the dishwasher’s hum.
My grief,
a part of me
that I can focus on
like my feet against the ground,
my hands on my lap,
or the sudden awareness of skin.
Gratitude,
with hardly any hunting—
just remembering,
mindful again and again and again
of how wonderful
these things are.
© Annie Neugebauer, 2020
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