I remember there were trees,
And shadows
And the smell of wet grass
And tiny ripe berries
That my Mom said were poisonous,
So that I wouldn’t eat them.
And a rusted swing.
Back then
It was easy to catch up to myself,
Because I always was.
But now
I must try
To be who I am.
It’s easy to give thanks
When it does happen …
When my God cups me in his hand.