The Small Picture
Why do people always say – focus on the big picture?
What’s so special about “the big picture?”
Unless you’re making a god damn collage.
I like the small picture.
Within them I see everything I need to know.
Take this little gem, for example.
Can you count the lines that mark its face?
How about the chips and cracks that claim its age?
Did you count the creases of the skin it hugs? Weathered
with traces of travels,
and god knows harboring how many secrets.
Do you wonder?
And would you believe me if I told you that every single fragment of the sea
gave away, as I threw myself onto them
quietly crawled close and
pressed into me?
That each one felt like a memory yet to be claimed,
a wonder yet to be understood,
a dream faded before it was known…
Would you believe me if I said
That I actually don’t know what I’m typing half the time,
That I sometimes look away and just tap out patterns of what feels good,
That sometimes the jumble of words stare back at me, wild-eyed,
And I stare back in return, wild-eyed.
That maybe I string them together like pastel shell-shaped candies,
Into little neat stacks of
Short lines that rhyme
Just so people can
Call it poetry.
That maybe I do that just to feel the rhyme.
That maybe I do that just for an excuse to post photos of seashells.
That maybe I am a seashell.
That maybe I just want an excuse to be the girl that fumbles in seashells.
That maybe I just want to be that girl
In itty bitty little pictures.