Backstory:

The words work nicely as a compulsive chant, or at least, they work better when recited repeatedly for relief, whatever needs relieving. I imagine it as a comforting lullaby in distressing times, and something to be repeated again and again with positive effect. I know for one when my mother died I began compulsively washing my hands every 15 minutes or so in the guest bathroom of the ICU. Partly the going away to the bathroom was relief from the crowded friends and family waiting room, which was already an asphyxia of grief. Mostly the going away was all there was to do, for there's only so much you can do in an ICU. Wait for the reason you're in the ICU to end, leave, or take pause in the restroom. I chose the lather to distract from the former. In either case, I'd have loved some sympathetic verses to recite during all that hand washing. Maybe these are those verses I never had, or never knew I wanted. At least they came to me in my hungover stupor that is this morning at 5am. They came from a single phrase, "Day-by-day," which was the last line quoted from a letter by George Bush, Sr. The letter was at an orthopedic office, and it was addressed to my orthopedic doctor who lost his leg from a landmine in Iraq. The trauma inspired him to become an orthopedic surgeon. The letter was congratulating him on his steady recovery, a note from the president. Day-by-day. I was privileged to read the letter because it was framed in my temporary room, patiently waiting. I had just punched something in disagreeable fashion, and I was waiting to hear the verdict. Cherishing those three words. Day-by-day.

Bit-by-bit.