It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the lake waits for you to come around the bend
How the door opens to take you in
How the street is lit on nights when you don't go jogging.
What patience they have, inside.
The longing, untold.
How the cupboard keeps things you have abandoned
How the pillow receives unwashed hair
How the water is there, drinkable, any given moment.
What faith they have, in you.
The acceptance, pure.
What if toilet paper comes in a block instead of a roll
Oil in a plate not a bottle
Books with sheets, unbound, unnumbered?
What if there is no button, no zipper, no elastic band
Soup spoon with no handle
Light without switch?
What respect they give, to you.
Ordinaries, unnoticed.
It is a kind of love, is it not?
Inspired by the poem The Patience of Ordinary Things, by Pat Schneider
