sometimes I feel neverending

sometimes I feel very small

 

today was a small day.

 

the little piece of paper

on the end of the tea bag

read me a poem

to make me feel better.

 

she sang, ‘grace is reality’

and I asked, ‘what is poetry anyway’

and she continued to sing ‘grace is reality’

because that is her eternity of knowledge.

 

I wondered if she existed in anyone else’s universe

and if another person thought to themselves,

‘hey, that’s a good one’

before tossing her in the trash.

 

a muffled cry from the garbage can

rings in my ears

and bounces from wall to wall

‘poetry is not just writing a feeling

it’s the act of feeling.’

 

whatever that means.