If you’re gonna use me
For an occasional ****
At least make me ***

Sometimes I feel weak,
Breakable just like a twig...

I feel vulnerable and small,
Just like a broken baby doll.

Someone once said to me, “It’s the little things that drive you crazy!”

It’s not.

It’s the little things that drive you sane — pills, pats and pets.

All honor for what is small: dollops and gobs and dabs, the edges of pie crusts, chocolate shavings.

Hail micro-sacredness of life, tiny flotsam and mini-jetsam — veins, mists, creeks, fogs.

Is it not life’s micro-detail, womp and woof of wondrous world, that moves us to gratitude?

Drops, pinches, dashes, rain, cinnamon, lotion; fermions, flounces, hadrons, hats, bosons, bacon bits, antiquarks — there is a breath-taking thereness in the smallest things.

And then at last there is the weight and force of slivered, severed time.
The massive power of one, tiny, single “was.”

The mighty microsity of one “will be.”

And the astonishing force of this quickly, quarky, snarky second’s “is.

imagine:

sitting on A stool on a stage
Small and creaky
aroma of coffee and maybe a cigar and sweet casualty in the air
imagine singing your mother’s favorite song to remember her softly
then Coming off stage
(greeted by your love poking your side so laughably irritating)
to sip a now tepid coffee, made by someone who knows your name
as you watch a neighbor go sit on the same stool
singing a song Of funny nostalgia that tickles the sides of your heart
reminding the room of our collective Age
with a chuckle and a smirk exchanged
and recounting the beautiful memories of lives lived in adjacency to one another
that makes up such a quaint Story

imagine that.

i have the tendency
to accept the pain
just to keep you from leaving
and not return again

it breaks my heart
and i take it all
even when i know
i should not feel this small

There are flowers on the window sill.
Wildflowers in a blue vase.
A small oasis
in a life that is anything but.

You release a sigh,
and with it, tension.
You focus, completely on the still life

and feel your own heart still,
your breath slow.
You fall into yourself,

You sip your coffee,
your morning slowed to the point
you control it. Not the other way around.

There is a small smile on your face.
Today will be a day of victories.
You know it, not even knowing the battles that await you.

Still. Slow. Aware,
you are invincible.

I try to make your place
in my overweight heart
as small as possible

and yet

you punched your way
through my chest
with only two words

(my angel)