Saying Thank You Some mornings—when
the mist is low on the harbor water,
when a river otter is streaming his path
through wooden boats— it would be painful
to not say thank you— to not enjoy
swallowing those words, to understand we are
not at the apex of anything, perhaps
even our own lives. What a relief this
is, like shedding jeans and shoes and
slipping into water, embracing this fragile skin. This poem first appeared in Review Oak Review. ©Emily
Wall 2003. Email: em@emily-wall.com
