you were hardly happy out there”
is the gurgling sound made by my
sneering, protected heart.
What does it know of gratitude?
What does it know of me?
Oh, but it knows a thing it wants
and needs no further permission
than to pang me near to death.
I only bow because it tripped me,
only kneel because I fell
and it just laughs to see me
giving up the fight-
what does it know of gratitude
for a quiet life of me,
what does it know of opting out,
of settling in?
“Welcome back,” it sings to me
as if I’d hardly ever left,
“come inside, sit by the fire,
and let it be.”