Sometimes the worst doesn’t happen.
The flash flood doesn’t flow through the first floor
of your home. The bear doesn’t tear into your tent.
But sometimes the train comes around a bend,
hits a rockfall and comes off the track. Sometimes
the rocket explodes in roiling orange fireball of methane fuel.
Sometimes the car launches from the highway into the air
and crashes, skids, takes out a tree, a bush,
then launches again, only to roll and roll.
When the worst happens, it doesn’t take long
before the inner narrator spins tale after tale
of how much worse it could be. It can always
be worse. Knowing this, what a gift today
to drive up to the front door, the house still intact,
to walk into the home and greet both cats,
to water the succulents on the kitchen shelf,
reheat the soup from the night before, pour
hot water over the mint tea, hold hands
with beloveds, say I love you, say grace.