Tag Archives: gratitude

Make It Count

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Every miserable day
and good one
near the water
or in a hospital
I try
I try
I try
My manta of gratitude
for functioning legs and serotonin uptake
quiet moments
and every last hug
for a soundtrack
and friendship
and good enough health
for those I love to make it to sunset
then sunrise
Repeat
Repeat
Repeat
Chaos and uncertainty
are too tight socks
pinching circulation
and leaving deep ruts
but limbs intact
if a tad blue
When I manage to roll them off
a more seamless state slowly returns
The heart relentless
doing its work
Pushing
Pushing
Pushing

NaPoWriMo Day 27

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The Next

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Sunday, 11:37 AM

Surrounded by light,
we sang

Across the Universe
:
“Nothings going to change my world.”
And I left the room serene,
hopeful I could pocket the joy,
nibble at it all week.

Sunday, 1:48 PM

Surrounded by pediatric cancer survivors,
we sang
a song written by a camper
thanking donors for their support.
And I left the room anxious,
frustrated that children must suffer so,
my pocket nearly empty.

Sunday, 4:16 PM

Surrounded by bird song
I write
about what it’s like
to raise a child with a critical illness.
How you learn to only inhabit the moment,
survive all the ongoing pain
by belly flopping enthusiastically

into every pool of happy.

April 2015
Julie Ayers


NaPoWriMo Day 12

  

Am

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I am heart on thin, imperfect legs, barely managing to remain upright because of the weight of affection I carry.  I am longing and present and curse and laughter and hurt, exuberance and tenderness, disappointment…solace, reward, price, reckoning, chapter and volume, journey, destination.  I am costly.  Irreplaceable.  Replaced already.  Silenced.  Memory.

I am was.

I am
ever.

 

Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 23

 

Context

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CIMG1917
I didn’t care that the pee was red.
It was still urine
slipping through the catheter line
and gathering
in the bag clipped to the rail of her hospital bed.
Not yellow.
Pink,
confetti-ed with clots of blood,
drifting.
A liquid answer from the transplanted kidney.
Sunrise in plastic.
Another day
holding the promise
of more.

January 2014
Julie Ayers