On the bad days (praise you)

On the bad days, stop.  

Feel it all.  Let it in.  And out.

List it out as anger.  Sadness.

Shame.  Regret.  Nothing at all.

Write a poem titled The End of It.  Rip it up. 

Start it again.

Sit in it.  Stand in it.  Carry it around like a colicky baby. 

Soak it into your pores. 

Allow it to wash you, like an unholy baptism. 

Write a prayer in the dust on the top of your dresser.

Blow it away.

Praise dirty dishes.  Easy Mac.  Microwaves. 

Mindless internet.  Books you've already read. 

Electronic communication so no one hears your voice.

Your shaky voice. Time without electronics.

Righteous anger.  Wells of sadness.  Holes of regret.

That which we cannot name.
Satisfactory unbelieving.

Things we can't explain.

The many ways we reach acceptance.

Praise hot, steamy showers. Cold dog noses.

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle.  

That off-key song you hum when you're alone.

Patches of sunshine on rainy days.  Falling leaves.

Days you don't put in your contacts.

Sweatpants.  10-year-old t-shirts that fit better than your skin.

Songs without words.  Words without songs.

Quiet company.  Un-silent solitude.

All the ways you find to breathe.

Praise the music you blast in the car.  The way you know all the words and

the moment you realize you've been singing it wrong.

Funky skirts that have never been trendy.

Your unruly hair.  

The moments of panic and of calm.

The tingly burn of Listerine.  Fuzzy socks.

Your fear of the basement and the spiders who live there.

The way Lubriderm still smells like your grandmother.

The many ways you smile.

Praise twisty pasta, acappella music, and coffee. 

The way your dog thinks he can catch the squirrels.

Saying "I love you" to family, just because you should.  

Saying it because you mean it.

Hugs from your dog.  The way he stretches when he wakes.

Spontaneous kisses from children that are not yours.

Hearing the words "I love you" from friends.  Knowing they mean it. 

Kind eyes behind handshakes with strangers.

The way you carry yourself into tomorrow.

On the bad days, remember to stop.
Feel everything and write it in.

Title it The Beginning and write 10 drafts,

save them all and praise starting over.

Whisper your prayer to the air. 

Watch the trees learn it and rattle in concert.

Praise the rain and let it wash you

like the holiest of baptisms, whispering:

Praise you.

Praise you.

Praise you.