Grace

Mary Locke, Freda, and Bonnie treated me to a delicious lunch at Cappy's for my October birthday that stretched out until everyone was home at the same time. 

I want to share this poem Freda gave me by San Antonio poet, Martha Grant.  She self-published a book of her poems for her friends on her 75th birthday.  

Grace

Grace has no manners and she isn't choosy.

When she decides it's time for a visit

she stops what she is doing

and expects you to do the same. 

She never calls first to ask if it's convenient.

When she arrives at your doorstep,

She doesn't care that you might be

on the toilet or in the shower

or on a ladder changing lightbulbs.

What she lacks in manners and consideration,

she makes up for in enthusiasm.

It is hard not to appreciate her good intentions,

But that comes later. Much later.

After you've fallen off the ladder, say,

spent months sidelined with a broken leg,

reading, writing, learning to knit,

maybe even to meditate. Only then

might you think thank her for

her visitation upon you, for

loosening the middle rung of the ladder

when your back was turned.