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thank you note

at five a.m.
the tail end of night
or beginning of the day
I read poetry. My breath slows as
I read and poetry unlocks the box
in my brain for Remember–
Remember what sparks and shines
inside each of us and remember
to say Thank You to poets
who turn language and looking into
poems and who help me remember
In the wreckage that was yesterday,
remember what blooms–
my grown-up daughter calls
because she has a cold (and I do not say,
but whisper to myself–this deep song inside
everyone who sometimes wants a mom)
And later, someone gives me a gift, a new mug
filled with dark chocolate hearts
and later still, a walk after work
through crunchy old snow in not yet night at 6 pm
and later the dog breeder sends a funny video
my puppy-to-be careening around her living room
chasing a basket by putting his whole head inside it

and also–
and later–
poems, read in the dark.
Thank you, poets
for the reminder: for walking your letters and lines
around the quiet runway
of the page
ready forever to help
any one of us look up
and see

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