Blessed
Blessed are those who receive a text of their adult daughter’s new tattoo at 3 a.m.;
for they will have a sleep-drunk spouse who will stir and mutter, “What the fuck?”
Blessed are those who hit the snooze button;
for they shall receive nine more minutes of sleep, unless they accidentally hit the stop button and awake in a panic an hour later.
Blessed are those who sleep on their faces;
for the deep crease running from eyebrow to lip will flatten out by their 10 a.m. meeting.
Blessed are those who pray in the shower;
for eventually the water will get hot.
Blessed are allergy pills, face cream, concealer, ibuprofen.
Blessed are those who glimpse their father’s eyes in their own as they brush their teeth;
for he will feel more present now than when he was alive.
Blessed are those who squeeze into their bra, snap off their bra, change shirts three times, zip up their boots, kick off their boots, then slip into flats;
for eventually they will feel presentable.
Blessed are those who should’ve worn their lumpy down coat, who regret choosing pretty over practical with each gust of wind;
for soon they will lace their fingers around a warm mug of coffee.
Blessed are those who oversleep and skip breakfast;
for today the cafeteria is serving fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
Blessed are those addicted to coffee and Camels;
for their blood levels will be perfectly balanced when they pitch an idea at their afternoon meeting.
Blessed are those who blow the doors off of other commuters on the highway;
for they will reach the red light three seconds faster.
Blessed are those who worry their spouse has made an insensitive remark about their daughter’s tattoo and unleashed a deluge of tears they’ll feel compelled to soothe the moment they walk through the door;
for they are too tired to soothe them, and dinner is not going to get on the table by itself.
Blessed are those who load the dishwasher without being asked.
No, seriously. They are really, really blessed.
Blessed are those who play games on their phone and watch murder shows on TV while their internal voice barks at them to do something productive;
for they will meet their deadlines and keep their promises anyway.
Blessed is the mattress that sighs beneath the work-spent body;
for the body will feel completely understood.
Blessed are those who set their alarms, convinced they will wake up on time tomorrow;
for they will not, and the day will unfold just fine.
-Laura Rose
Laura Rose lives and writes in Southampton, Pennsylvania. Her work has been published in Narrative Magazine, New Millennium Writings, Memoir Journal, and more.