In order to view this poem as the author intended it to appear, we suggest reading it on a computer screen or in the landscape orientation on your phone.

Thankful
Marilyn Johnston

Our anniversary today, and I look
at the empty side of the bed.
He must have awakened early,
tied on his shoes to go into
the garden, closing the door
softly so not to rouse me.
I could go look for him,
but after 46 years, we’ve gotten
used to being alone, even in
the same house, even the same
room, even on an anniversary
that used to signify something—
but now, no more than all the other
milestones we’ll have yet to cross.
Now, with COVID, he won’t expect
even the card I propped beside
his pillow. Maybe tomorrow we’ll ride
to the Coast, silent in the front seat,
except for maybe noting the flight
of an eagle, or a fawn as it runs
across a field, or how lucky we are
to see such smoke-free skies.
For that’s the way our comfort
has slid and molded us into gratitude
that we’re still here, side by side.
And it’s okay if he comes back into
the house with his empty hands—
not even a flower from the yard
needed to profess his love.

—
Marilyn Johnston is the author of Red Dust Rising (The Habit of Rainy Nights Press), a chapbook of poems about a family healing from war; and a full collection, Before Igniting (Rippling Brook Press). She received a writing fellowship from Oregon Literary Arts and won a Robert Penn Warren writing competition prize, as well as the Donna J. Stone National Literary Award for Poetry. She teaches creative writing in the Artist in the Schools Program, primarily working with incarcerated youth.

Know anyone who might appreciate reading Marilyn’s poem?
Why not share the link to this page?

Have you read these poems:
A Different Story by Elizabeth Brulé Farrell
Uncertainty by Robert Bullard

Table of Contents