Open Openly

Bless Tuesday, blessed Monday. Bless the word week, its seven small days trail with y. Bless the men whose words I was too young to hear. A whisper loves a canal. Bless my laugh, lent by grief, I have so little left to borrow. But my hair, it grows— if hair be gold, cut mine so I might rid my beloved of his student loans. Bless thieves, universities, those hands caress what’s not theirs. Bless thinking it was yours. Here are hands, blessed one. Bless them holding the door. Bless each crier on the F train before and after me as they blush, as they transfer into tunnels for the red line. Oh bless, bless wildly, what remains to be done. Bless the one who told me so, the ones who didn’t. Even weak breaths bless. Bless weakness, fragile fortress, my friend’s body absent of soundness. Bless the sound of someone reliable answering your call, saying If you’re going through hell, Hello.