What am I grateful for? Who do I stain my face with age for? That furrowed brow for a past that can only be found tucked behind my forehead. I am thankful and it shows up in my walk. The way I sway in this endless swinging. I am thankful and it shows up in my laugh: is the last one I’ll ever have that hits this deep? I am thankful and it reveals itself in the tenderness of my touch. Yet my grip is so loose. I am thankful and it shows in my speech, stains my sheets and leaves a lipstick ring around a wine glass. gratitude, dripping, is what grounds me. So I sing a song only swans can sway to and I tip toe on this earth like she is a respite. I tread light.