Blessed are the crooked elms and the bony oaks,
the ragged crowns of cottonwoods;
the runt of the litter and the clumsy beast.
Blessed are the million backyards I have known,
kittens born under muddy porches;
marbles lost in a sandbox, forgotten dolls at the neighbor’s house.
Blessed are the bills unopened on a makeshift table,
dishes left soaking in a borrowed sink;
shoes that were always too small for my feet, laces I never learned to tie.
Blessed are the broken, the beaten, the hard of heart;
the faces in the window to my dreams—that other world,
where a mother knows how to braid my hair
and a father carries me on his shoulders,
carries the letters I wrote in his pocket.
Raises me up, lifts me off.
Lets me down.
Bobbi Buchanan’s poetry has been published in The Louisville Review, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, The James Dickey Review, and Kudzu. Her chapbook of poetry, Tiny Little Beauty, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. Bobbi is Editor-in-Chief of New Southerner.
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