You don’t get a prize for not killing yourself
You have to make the prize yourself
From the slanted gold light that cuts between the drab houses
and hits you right in the eye as you’re driving down your street,
on your way home from a few odd errands,
bags of cheese and ice cream warming on your back seat.
Make it from the diamond twangs of a guitar string
floating from the speaker as you dice a red pepper
to put into a dish you’ve never made before
for people you’ll always love.
Make it from the glistening gems of warm sink water,
the elaborate metalwork of a ball of hair you sweep from under the bed,
the ribbon of fur that darts down the hallway at 2 am,
the heavy silver of your eyelids
when you’re too engrossed to notice
the tick of time marching towards sunrise.
Make it from the resilient frame of your body.
And when you have those things
forge your prize in the furnace of small blessings
until you realize they’re not so small.
They’re as big as you make them
and so is your prize.