It is a blessing
to find those things
that save us
in small ways.

At the checkout counter
a teenaged boy
offered to carry groceries
for an old couple.
They said yes,
and I was quietly saved.

Last Tuesday,
late morning,
a brief shaft
of early winter sun
reached down
between sooty clouds,
illuminating the harried ones
as they texted and bustled
and pledged continued allegiance
to their busy-ness.

I don’t need names
of who was warmed
by those fingers of light,

only to know
that it was offered,
one of many benefactions
dropped into our paths,
daily, nightly,

little graces
saving us
from the wars we ignite
with our thoughts.

Saved, saved,
by the ladybug
that wouldn’t leave my hand
even when I shook it outside,
offering freedom.

It’s a kind of stubborn optimism
the way our gods keep offering
all these glories, these gifts,

even as we
self-important creatures
bustle by them,
on to the next moment
before the present one
is gone.

 

–Melinda Coppola

 

Note: This poem was published in a different form on One Art Poetry Journal on 3/27/22

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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