an unsubtle wind

I chose to ignore the peeling, water-logged
callouses on the insides of my hands
where the fingers meet the palm

and instead focus on and enjoy the perfect ratio of
hot coffee to cold milk I drink from a thermos

when a street corner-whipped wind
nearly blows my hat off

and I’m reminded of how long I lived,
resentfully unaware,
of how much joy I often brought to

my parents

and of the many ways
they told and showed me so,

and I can’t think them enough
because I can’t thank them