Whew. Friday at last, and a not a moment too soon.
Happy Leap Year, everyone! The end of February is also here, and we'll all share in the relief (just as soon as the forty-five mph winds stop gusting and the lights quit blinking off and on) that Spring is definite, indisputably, can't-hold-it-back on its way. No matter what that groundhog said: it's almost over.
Don't forget to read down to 'Toon Thursday; it's still so great to be made into a cartoon; I'm so much thinner on paper...!
When I'm not obsessing over the whole thinness issue, I'm obsessing over my things. This poem struck me as a the beginning of an explanation for why we cherish stuff so much. It's ours... we've named it. It's our baby...
What happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.
We fitted our shoes with tongues
as smooth as our own
and hung tongues inside bells
so we could listen
to their emotional language,
and because we loved graceful profiles
the pitcher received a lip,
the bottle a long, slender neck.
Even what was beyond us
was recast in our image;
we gave the country a heart,
the storm an eye,
the cave a mouth
so we could pass into safety.
"Things" by Liesel Mueller, from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems. © Louisiana State University.
The poetry of possessions and other 'stuff' can be found today at Writing & Ruminating.