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poem of small graces

in the days leading up to my 30th birthday,

mostly i’m surprised

by how fine i am.

life is so often

a safari of suffering,

a constantly replenishing

vessel for grief. sometimes i think

my blood must be laced with steel.

still, thank god for small graces.

for my lyft driver who switched

his music from hardcore rap

to lush R&B once i boarded, songs

i ended up low-key shazam-ing.

that first bite of sourdough focaccia,

tangy and pillowy. and later,

dissolving into a tub

full of steaming water,

stealing the ache from my bones.

one day soon, i will move

from reaping grace to sowing it.

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