Poetry goes completely against my grain. Way, way too few words employed. This one, though, found in a small notebook that belonged to my mother, speaks to me. It perfectly expresses a priceless and intangible element in only the rarest of friendships and one for which I yearn.
I framed this one for such a friend. (Don't worry, siblings, I haven't absconded with the original. This is a copy. It's for Tricia.)
My photograph renders the poem illegible. Add good, new camera to the list of items I can't find. And, my credit card. It's a replacement card for one I threw away at Burger King last year. And, my driver's license has been expired for almost a year. I'm sort of a bumbling, careless fool.
Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible
comfort of feeling safe with a person,
Having neither to weigh thoughts,
Nor measure words - but pouring them
All right out - just as they are -
Chaff and grain together -
Certain that a faithful hand will
Take and sift them -
Keep what is worth keeping -
And with the breath of kindness
Blow the rest away.