Bless Yore Heart

Chris Ellery

January 4, 2026

Sadly

at the funeral of a boyhood friend

I learned another friend is now in prison.

Death seems less impossible every day

and less serious.

They were risk takers both

when I knew them.

Nevertheless

I cannot say

the stars have lost their knack

for surprise.

A week later

on my Sunday walk

I see 

a blue heron

fishing

near where my shadow falls

below the Forest Trail Bridge.

And further on I see 

through the picture window of a house on Millbrook,

behind my image on the glass,

a man watching a football game on TV

alone. 

I can smell his chili cooking.

I can hear the voices coming from the screen

whose job it is to make us believe 

it matters.

I’m still thinking about this as I cross Sul Ross,

almost home.

I’m thinking about little fish and frogs,

the patient shade of hunger

on the water,

efficient stars 

ablaze with destiny in the marshy night.

By asking so little

life asks too much. 

And yet I wish good hunting to the heron.

Bless your little hearts,

mi amigo, mi amigo. 

It is no wonder at all that people die, 

no wonder people fall.

Chris Ellery lives in San Angelo and is fond of sunrise walks along the Red Arroyo. His most recent collection of poems is One Like Silence.