hope is the thing with feathers

So yesterday at Mass Father Christopher built his sermon around the first line of an Emily Dickinson poem, "Hope is the thing with feathers". And, because I have more nerve than common sense, I wrote a poem that refers to her poem.

Hope is the thing with feathers
flashing past the sun,
catching your eye and giving you a reason

To reach out
and flick the clouds away
fingernails smooth
since you finally learned
not to chew them.

But you can't stop your knee from bouncing
180 beats a minute
-should have one skinny leg-
it pistons away
a pop-off valve for

Your soul

gives the thing
with feathers
a place to perch
(patient haven)
while you glare at the sun
and clouds surge.

today I am thankful for...

I am thankful for the hour in the morning before everyone gets up.
I am thankful for the best job in the world.
I am thankful that my back doesn't hurt.
I am thankful for my friends who are like sisters and my sisters who are my friends.
I am thankful that my kids put up with me and that my husband still loves me.
I am thankful that we're all still at it, plugging away, learning and laughing and loving each other.