A kind of stocktaking:
sit quietly, begin to feel grateful
for something, maybe your family,
your life even;
remember how your grandmother
said, count your blessings
and you at the age when
you couldn’t wait to find them first
and then maybe remember them, maybe not.
The list grows; a feeling that
you should give something back.
It seems a small gift; just words
on paper. So you wrap it
more carefully than other gifts,
write the name of the recipient
carefully, watching the ink
make a thin river like a vein
along the paper.
Can you still remember
how to spell the name?
The address seems
sometimes very far away; sometimes
very close.

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