Praise and Poems
Gratitude on the Coast of Death
Because my Spanish was so bad
that I could only say gracias,
I kept offering it up when drivers
stopped at the roadsides to give us
lifts. Gracias when we got in
and gracias when we stopped.
Gracias, señor. Gracias.
What a day that was, the rivers
as wide and endless
as our lives seemed,
and boulders piled under the mountains
like gifts beneath a tree.
Gracias, I said. Gracias.
And the stern driver said no,
these thanks must end
because they were boring –
which made us lean
into each other and laugh
until he chucked us out
on the Coast of Death,
where there was only the ocean
spreading its rumours
over the fields
and we lifted our thumbs
into the silence, ready to follow
wherever the wind blew us.
That was all it took
and all we wanted.
Gracias, señor. Gracias.