Poem: Crocheted Moments
Crocheted Moments
The kettle is warm, and the tea piping--
small crocheted mug covers
touch and press against my fingertips.
My dulled nails slide into the gaps in yarn,
and it is as your shoulder grazes mine
that it comes into my floating and fleeting mind,
that this is mine.
Not the yarn or the mug
or even the tea burning my tongue.
not the time or the sunlight kissing your smile,
not even you, but this moment, this memory.
It is mine, this simple Monday morning
is mine and this is enough, at least for a lifetime.
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