WHY I WRITE A POEM A DAY

As I reflect on all the hands
that grow my food

and a mother who tipped her heart sideways
forty-five years ago and has not stopped
letting her love leak into mine

and the activists
who fight for the rights
I take for granted
like breath

and the garbage truck driver
and the postman
and the thousands of strangers
who work at jobs
that make my city flow

and to you
for reading this

all of it makes me feel
dunked in gratitude

not out of duty
but because it’s the only
reasonable response
when I take stock
of the never-ending gifts
I receive.