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Beatitude

October 11, 2011 7 comments

by Sheila Squillante

Blessed be parts of my body I cannot reach in the shower—out of sight, out of mind.

Blessed be aluminum, without it we are all sadder and unadorned.

Blessed be infinity and its children, particles of stretched color and light moving through a pixelated sky.

Blessed, all blessed.

Blessed be the cats moving among cheap office furniture; theirs is the kingdom of smarty.

Blessed be the frangible, for they know not a thing about it, skipping as they do down streets strewn with bottle caps and pizza slices falling from the so blessed sky.

Bless us in the shopping center, cabbages and our carriage with the one stuck wheel.

Bless the electricians, for they shall know pivot and burst. Blessed the lemon cake, the beautiful nerve, the bedspring and the radio voice.

Blessed be emptiness and the severalness of what a day!

Blessed be the office furniture with the fake wood grain: some things come close
and that’s enough.

Blessed be the open window; let the late bees come on in.

Bless the fortuneteller and the barber;  for they shall inherit the kingdom of downtown boogie-
woogie.

Blessed be the extended family and the lightning rod and the butter softening in the ceramic dish on the counter.

Blessed be cyberskin and serranos.

Bless us in our verisimilitude; bless your best party dress, sybaritic blue.

Blessed be the lunch-makers, the sweepers and the stuffers.

Blessed the Tupperware filled with yesterday’s Bolognese, the splintering wood

and they who hesitate, for they shall be ratified, shall be outright expressed.

Blessed be the leopard print chaise and the women everywhere in purposed
repose.

Blessed be the unruly hair and the mole in the middle of my back, unwashable!

Bless linen and silk and particleboard.

Blessed be the numerator’s glorious variance; it tends to get the short end. Blessed be the radius and ulna and humorous elusive, for they shall move the meat of my arm.

Blessed be the arms.
Blessed the stomach and the sclera; they have ideas all their own.

Blessed be sparkle and sinew.

Blessed smarten and clutter and understudy.

Blessed be the compilers, for they shall know

the nervous yellow bloom.


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Sheila Squillante (blog) has had work in No Tell Motel, MiPOesias, Brevity, Waccamaw, Phoebe and elsewhere. She teaches writing at Penn State.

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