Mary Katherine Riley
Your son tugs your hand to show you that he picked up all the Legos,
though you regret how you raised your voice at him about the mess.
You pick him up from school and drive him to Dairy Queen,
though he knows he doesn’t have the grades to deserve a Blizzard.
Your friend moves her suitcase from the sofa for you to have a seat,
though you claimed to be fine sitting cross-legged on the rug.
You turn on overhead lights so she can read your lips,
though you prefer lamps.
The host refills your orange juice during brunch,
though you know where to find the carton.
You carry a stack of yolk-stained plates to the dishwasher,
though you didn’t eat off of them.
Can I get you anything?
Do you do hugs?
Drop by anytime.
Thank you for your patience.
I’ll walk you home.
You’re right.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
Take care.
Please, take care.
You wake up at three in the morning convinced you’re a burden,
while someone else lies awake wishing you would call.
Last semester, I took a creative poetry-writing class with Texas poet Carrie Fountain. One of our assignments was to choose an abstract concept, make that the title of our poem, then write about the concept in a way that is specific and imagistic. I had been thinking a lot about grace, which, admittedly, is something that I am not sure I fully understand even now. But the way I understood it at the time was sort of a flow of goodness and care that occurs whether or not we “deserve” those things. This poem is a collection of vignettes and sayings depicting how we show grace to one another and how everyday gracious acts can help us feel like we belong.
Mary Katherine Riley
