Every Penny Pithy Thing

And I promise it will feel like this,
no matter how bad things seem,
I can promise you this:

That when it rains at the end of February, you will feel the life churning in the grass below you.
You will taste the water, and you will know Better is on its way.
That when you work with your own body, and get very quiet, and sit very still,
it will tell you what it needs.
Maybe even a bag of sea salt potato chips at 11:30 PM.
That when you pinch other people's comfort with your OCD tendencies,
if they love you, they will calm down enough to listen and to try to understand,
and to say It's Okay and not let it spoil the Sunday goat cheese crepes.
That love is blind, and work gets done, and you can eat twenty-five cookies
in one night
and you don't have to feel sick.

And no matter how good things seem,
I can promise you this:

That there is too much butter in the bowl.
That you might have to rush some things.
That you won't really ever know if it's "working out" the way you intended it to "work out."
That people don't always say Goodbye.
That you're always going to be an idiot about something.

But, still, I'll accept it all--every penny pithy thing--
for the wind outside, threatening to become a tornado.