Performance Art
We write our lives
in the small things we do:
bare feet on the cold floor,
the bed made, sheet and quilt
pulled up just so;
hands dipped into a basin,
the still-damp towel
hung to dry. Your smile
warms me when I enter the kitchen
after the cold night.
We write our lives
in the things we do.
Our penmanship grows
better with practice.
in the small things we do:
bare feet on the cold floor,
the bed made, sheet and quilt
pulled up just so;
hands dipped into a basin,
the still-damp towel
hung to dry. Your smile
warms me when I enter the kitchen
after the cold night.
We write our lives
in the things we do.
Our penmanship grows
better with practice.
– Steve Peterson
(One of my best childhood memories is my parents buying me a handwriting workbook at some teacher supply store~I think I finished it within the week.)
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ReplyDeleteI like the symmetry of this with another poem I think we shared years ago - something about at the end of a long, hard day with one more frustration, how you acted in that hour showed your real power (wish I could remember exactly) -
ReplyDeleteThis poem reminds me that love is formed every day, like a line of letters in an exercise book. Carefully, and with practice... like character is formed, or habit. The deliberateness is key - and the idea of choice.
It's like music/singing practice~little bits every day equal a whole lotta muscle memory that makes everything easier.
DeleteI'll go through our email archives this weekend and see if I can find that poem.
I like it. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThat's Lovely. I'm Lol about you loving a handwriting book. I always loved handwriting too. It's an art form for sure.
ReplyDeleteIt's soothing!
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