You must feel so grateful
when you get home–
You’d think,
the way I talk big,
putting out fires.
But really,
I mostly sift
through the ashes
of what once was,
in front of those
who knew it far better.
Any comparison
would be unkind,
and superstition
would say, unwise,
but to think that way
would cheapen things.
As if any of us
really stood a chance–
all that to say
when I get home
these days I try
not to feel
and not to think,
and if anything
I’m grateful
that occasionally
I succeed.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
Great poem. The first few lines impacted me the most. “You’d think, the way I talk big, putting out fires. But really, I mostly sift through the ashes.” Such a humbling and uneasy statement (I don’t know if those are the best words to describe it, but they’re the first ones that popped in my head.)
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Thanks, Izzy! Humble is definitely a good word, as in the more you know, the more you know you don’t know…
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Raw and lovely.
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Thank you!
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… the last line … brought the suh-mile sunshine
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Nice.
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