Tricky Things

Thank yous are such tricky, delicate things, Like small birds with hollow bones Or the first breath of sharp air on a cold November morn. They tend to get away from us, To appear and disappear without our noticing. They are difficult to capture, unable to hold in the palm of our hand. A thank you. What is it? I ponder: Can we examine them and see them for what they truly are? Are they insincere and occasionally a burden, nothing more than a polite tit-for-tat transaction? Or are they sincere but easily forgotten and sometimes lost, some never having been spoken or shared? A thank you. What is it? Is it black and liquid, like a fresh mug of hot tea? Is it silvery and crinkled, like discarded wrapping paper? Or is each one unique, like an inside joke between two old friends? A thank you. What is it? I do not always know what a true thank you looks or feels like. Perhaps the appearance depends upon the giver and the receiver. Maybe it’s the intention in the exchange that colors its appearance. A thank you. What is it? I conclude: It’s a heartfelt exchange between two people. I’m giving you one now. Thanks for reading my poem.