She’s lived here always,
where generosity grows.
Her door is open—
Family and friends come,
carrying sweetness in the crook of their arms.
Fresh corn, still warm from the sun,
twice in one week from cousins who hadn’t planned it,
but somehow knew.
A bouquet left on the porch,
a jar of something homemade,
a bag full of tomatoes and cucumbers,
open arms, ready to give a hug.
Thoughtfulness is everything—
this daily liturgy of care,
a soft and steady miracle,
love circling back to her,
again and again,
She is known here.
She is loved,
without saying so,
keeps showing her so
in heartfeltways.
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