This morning, now, I am grateful
for sunlight on wood floors;
for the softness of cat's paws;
for Mars Rovers, telescopes, ringed planets;
for antibiotics, antibodies, antihistamines,
anticipation, that short story about an ant,
all the ants that stayed outside this spring;
for the snapdragon flowers that gripped
my finger in their bright jaws
forty years ago.

I am grateful, I will be grateful,
for these small things,
and the larger things we will not touch on,
will not press our fingers
into their petals;
no, instead I will be grateful
for sliced cucumber, iced lemonade,
the double straws my daughter puts into her glass.

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