A corner of your desk. A detail.
A bit of a small Italian box
holding nothing but memories.
The edge of a drawer, Hand-cut
and dovetailed in a rough perfection.
Dust. I am a lousy housekeeper.
The curve of her smile over coffee.
A tendril of hair drapes over her shoulder.
A detail of the whole. the place your
eye lands as she laughs
at her own joke. You laugh with her.
The iron cross in the window over your sink.
Not quite an antique. the finish is worn.
Almost Celtic. Almost commercial.
Behind it lays forest, faded behind dirty windows.
If you look closely, you can see a speck of rust.
So human it makes you smile.
It is the details that hold you together
more often than you would like to admit,
The little things
About this poem.
When I was going through the darkest part of my therapy, my therapist (Who I pray gratitude for constantly) taught me to focus on the little things around me. The details. The beautiful things that are all around us. We need those reminders. At least, I do.
It’s a skill, a practice that I do to this day. One of the most important things I have ever learned.
The picture really is of a corner of my desk.