Poetry of Ordinary Things
See how the sunlight
comes across the table,
touching my hand
and the paisley coffee cup
I emptied earlier, is refilled
with a pouring
of the same anointing light.
I am enamored
by ordinary things
like that spoon catching
a reflection,
the blue bowl holding
a few pieces of fruit
and a smear
of strawberry jam
I have left on a plate.
Even the fridge
in the corner
gurgling as if
its stomach was empty,
is in communion with me.
Each morning
I begin with this modest feast,
give thanks,
catalog the pieces
in my poetry.
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