Cresting the Coquihalla

Cresting the Coquihalla

Thank you for that evening driving back from Saskatoon
in the golden flush of fall
and a shimmering harvest sun was suspended
over a slough west of Camrose
and you found yourself standing in the ditch, watching,
and the car door was open and Canned Heat was playing,
Going Up the Country.
Thank you John O’Donohue
who taught that beauty, vital as breath,
does not wait for perfection or your special plans.
Give thanks for Thérèse of Lisieux
and all the little unstoppable flowers,
sprouting along the hem of heaven.
Thank you, whoever made the emoticon
of a happy-face wearing heart-glasses.
Thank you workers at Home Depot
for putting a sunny pumpkin-face
on a frowning corporation.
Thanks for all the ordinary goodness,
and ordinary pettiness and private miseries
and Charles Bukowski, who wrote,  
“let us celebrate the stupidity of our endurance,”
releasing us from our treasured bits of self-glory.
Give thanks for all the small kindnesses
and stumbling self-betrayals,
that make up any given day.
Thank you song sparrow.
Thank you for the friend who left the hospital.
Thank you matted grass in the marsh
giving shelter to moles and muskrats.
Thank you Leonard Cohen for leaving us
small explosions of ache and joy
and a manual for living with defeat.
Thank you for all the ripe tomatoes this year
and the ones that didn’t make it;
for all the finished paintings, songs and poems
and the ones that tried to fake it.
Thank you for all the discarded crutches
along the lane to Lourdes
and the wheelchair factory down the road.
Thank you Norman Morrison, Quaker of Baltimore,
speaking your irrefutable language:
you set flame to your body
and named the end of that hateful war.
Thank you luminous palm fronds for giving us fibre
to weave those welcome mats we set at front doors.
Thank you sidewalk covered in cherry blossoms,
we remember you and can’t wait to see you next spring.
Thank you bottle-picker for talking to us;
we are grateful and deeply sad
about all the lines we have yet to erase.
Thank you Stellar’s jay, you make a fucking racket
but in flight your fan tail and blue-blackness pierces our heart.
Thank you dear barista for asking, while pouring coffee,
if we noted the stars this morning,
because we hadn’t and needed just such a gentle reprimand.
Thank you Universe for your timing:
that blue mountain day cresting the Coquihalla
and Jane Sibery came on, singing,
Bound by Beauty.

Wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving!