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Little Things
Poetry should be
A warm glass of milk
In the middle of the night—
Something to ease the nightmares.
Poetry should be
A lavender bubble bath
With the lights dimmed—
An escape from bitter reality.
Poetry should be
A call from an old friend
After elongated silence—
A reminder that you make a difference.
Poetry should be
The smell of cologne
That your high school sweetheart wore—
Nostalgically and nauseatingly never-ending.
Poetry should be
All of the little things
That bring a smile to your face—
Esoteric to others; simple to you.
