Something About A Vessel, or One Morning I Just Had A Word In My Head
A poem
Something… something “vessel”
But what was it?
Find a notebook.
Jot it down.
...
All of us are vessels
held together all wabi-sabi—
Some of us with gold,
some do our best with
glitter glue.
Or if we're less clay
more woven
we might be patched
or frayed where the knee pokes out.
Perhaps we're all t-shirts
with that puff paint—
Drawn on when we were children
and we're due for a good spin cycle.
Some chipped
some stained
and we don't always remember
how the damage got there.
Sometimes we fade on purpose.
—Life of the jeans, we tell ourselves
—Of course we're cracked, we weren't kept in the fancy cabinet.
A bee just landed on my thigh and I let it sit and, quiet, beg it not to sting—
Just taking a break from all the things a bee is expected to do on a hot summer morning
And there's a hole right next to it
—My tender flesh exposed
while it grooms its little bee legs
and bee wings
and my hand is nearby, freckled
Like the pollen a bee is haulin'
(So corny)
But I've got to move
so I pull the fabric of my PJ pants
beyond stinger distance
and apologize as I nudge it with my pencil
while pigeons flirt on my roof.
Nature thrives all wabi-sabi
And we are nature, too.My novels:
Supurb flow to your poem, so many vessels.
I *am* due for a good spin cycle! How did you know?! 😅
(Great read, thanks for this.)