patience

I came across this poem on patience by Pat Schneider:

The Patience of Ordinary Things

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

After I read this poem, I caught myself staring at my cup of coffee, the towel rack, my coffee table. I’ve never found myself so curiously drawn to these ordinary things, things we take for granted to do the things they do. Maybe that’s why I’m late for work…