Sometimes I like the most ordinary things:
the buds with their cheeks full of leaves,
the perfect curve of an enamel bowl,
a lemon floating lazy in its hot water bath.
I like the curled shells of tiny ears lying tidy and prim
against a dark head.
And the way hair greys around the face like frost
and crinkles gather like thirsty animals
to drink from a twinkling eye.
Hot water bottles,
simple routines,
bread with butter.
Sometimes I like the most ordinary things:
the slow breath of stones,
ice shifting in a glass of water --
like sleepers under their bedclothes.
And a certain essential blue that floods across summer sky.
The ordinary things are the currency of perfect wealth
laying about in full sight, in vast abundance.
They sing a sweet and constant hum of welcome to this world
and tell me there is no better place than this
for me.
© 1994 Barbara McAfee
Please contact Barbara for permission to use poem -
(612) 840-9255
