The Simplest of Things

It is the simplest of things that draw your eye.
Light in the window.
Steam from your coffee cup.
The curve of your lover’s hip.
A tabletop, empty save for a small flower in a vase.
A chair by the fireplace.
The cast iron frying pan on the wall.
Your great grandmother’s clock,
the pendulum swaying to and fro,
the slow tick tock, tick tock of time.
The cat on your book.
Her lips.
The simplest of things.

About this poem.

I like simple. No, more than that, simple brings me peace. Joy. I can see a simple thing and stand and look for the longest time, not lost in it, but found.

And a love poem. Because no poem is about one thing.

The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village near Pittsfield, Mass.

Tom