Gratitude, Year III

Do you have the time? he says innocently, but I see in his fidgeting fingers that he is asking something else completely. I'm only riding the J for one stop, but it's the long one across the bridge, so we chat about the holidays, about family and who we are. He stares at me with deep eyes and long lashes, as a brilliant afternoon sun reflects off the Brooklyn navy yard. Are you from New York? I ask, and all he says is I am now. 

The Thanksgiving feast is immense, of course, beautiful and overwhelmingly filling. The child holds every one of our hearts in her chubby hands and is delighted. She runs across the rooftop at sunset, Manhattan spreading out at her feet and I fear she won't remember this was all hers once. They leave early, we continue to get drunk and make light of our gratitudes. I sing until my knees tremble and must spend the whole next day writhing in shame. I only barely made it out of the cab without passing out. But I do not forget the day, what it means.

This year,
to my very core,
I am grateful for New York.
For being back here,
when I thought perhaps
I never would be.
For being able to take
these streets
for granted, again,
and for the fact that I never forget
what a treasure that is.
I am grateful for the beautiful people
who remained here
and welcomed me back,
and for those across the lands
and oceans
who will remain still
when I turn to them
with my broken bones again. 
I am grateful for the words
and souls
and streets
that have not yet given up on me,
even when I already have, myself.

I don't know what I would do without you.
And this year,
I am grateful I don't have to.