When We Speak in Comfortable Sentences and Muted Tones

I wrote this poem a long time ago, and sadly, I have never (and will never) show it to the person I wrote it for.

You are

The caramel syrup on the whipped cream on my coffee.

You are

Daylight Savings Time—

The good one—

You know,

When you get extra sleep, not less.

You are

The “A” on that paper I didn’t

really think I deserved.

You are

The song I don’t tire of.

You are my external hard drive with extra memory,

and also

That fortunate umbrella

I happened to have with me

that one time it rained

when no one thought it would.

My winter flannel,

You are

that one perfect sweater,

soft and warm

that I found buried in the sale racks,

waiting for me, just my size.

You are

the leather bag I carry everywhere;

With it’s wonderful familiar smell.

Like the distant scent of home.

You are a comfortable chair,

like the ones at the movie theater where you can just sit and enjoy

a good movie, you are

a safe place to rest my tired eyes.

You are

that favorite childhood book

with its well-learned pages

and its memories of a kind of contentment

I haven’t felt

since 12 years of age,

but that you help me to remember.

And like those gentle naps in the quiet light of the

Autumn afternoon,

You are the rest that delivers me,

whole,

through a long night of painful study

in the library

far from home, but safe in the functional hut

you’ve built for me

in your restful heart.