Love Letters and Hard Wood

Early in the morning you read love letters
and sip coffee. The morning sun strikes the wood
of your desk top. An old plantation desk
bought at auction, to wood scarred with generations
of work. Here and there cubbyholes filled
with tiny boxes gathered from around the world,
evidence of travel, yours and lovers past,
at times from relatives. They all know
you have a thing for them, tiny containers
full of character from whatever nation
they hail from. Each just large enough
to hold a memory. The desk is far from perfect,
but it is perfect for you, a broad expanse
of aged wood, battered and beautiful,
It is a stutterstop morning. You can’t quite
find your rythm. Everything is off and so you sit
and savor the details around you,
hoping for grounding., not in the big things
but the small.

About this poem

Early in my therapy journey, about 15 years ago, my therapist taught me the value of savoring the small gifts of beauty around us even in the darkest times. It is something I return to in hard times, again and again.

I keep all my love letters from days past in a small trunk that was my grandfather’s The family legend is that he always put the notes and cards from people had known in the trunck all his life. In fact, I watched him once put a card in, and it was full of notes and such. When he went in the hospital the last time and passed, we went to the trunk and…. it was empty. I am not sure I will be able to pull that trick off, but I have been putting notes and cards from people in the trunk (which I inherited). I like having those reminders close at hand.

The photography is of a corner of my desk at home. Yes, a plantation desk, as described in the poem.

Tom