i tried to sit down and write about my heart
but nothing new came to mind
i thought i’d maybe write about my day
but nothing happened poetically
charles lindburgh’s wife once wrote
him a letter before they were married
and told him about the blue bowls
she’d bought for their new home
i read it in composition class
five years ago in the autumn
i wish i remembered it better
i bought a bowl the other day
for our eventual house of dreams
it is very simple and handmade
but it captured and held my fancy
on the outside it is blue
the blue of icy mint cough drops
with a grey unglazed base
inside it is chalk white and thick
it reminds me oddly of a whale
so i named it moby dick
i wonder about you sometimes
what you look like, how we’ll meet
i won’t wear shoes to be married
i don’t know if i like diamonds
they always seem harsh and cold
pearls are tears, but warm ones
like the happy ones shining
on sunkissed summer cheeks
sometimes i feel you in dreams
you stand behind me, protecting
while our children play beside us
i can’t see you clearly yet
but i know one day i will
will you let me give them names
like forrest lily or poppy
or ellery or ian or eiddon?
the future is every second
just before this one clicks by
i’m learning to wait patiently
to smile at the future
and laugh at things to come
when He tells you it’s time
i won’t be scared anymore
maturing is not optional
i have come to realize
so this is the newness
i’ve found in my heart
and here is the poetry
in the everyday routine
with what will we fill our blue bowl?
