EVERY GOOD AND PERFECT GIFT
The problem is that I
cannot distinguish a good gift from a bad one.
Fever seemed bad, until it saved my life.
Half-deafness seemed bad, until it taught me to listen.
Her cancer seemed bad, until it yielded poems.
The fights—oh, the fights!—seemed awful, until you and I,
We held hands that July afternoon.
When a manila envelope appeared in my mailbox
with no name from someone full of hate
I shrugged and threw it away.
Perfect.
