A poem by Pat Schneider.
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdily and foursquare.
How the floor received the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
From The Patience of Ordinary Things (2003)
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