THE HOLINESS OF LITTLE THINGS

by Laurie Kovens

 

 

I’m no poet.
You would beg to differ.
And did.

You, the confirmed Atheist
who prayed at the altar of words and friendship
saw this Nice Jewish Girl with a lot to say,
struggling to get words onto the page.
And invited me to day of coffee and writing.

“What are you working on?”
you asked
and listened with gentle disbelief
as I stammered about my struggle with the page

I said “I’m just trying to find my voice.”
You insisted I could
And why I should.
And then
I did

As we sat across from each other
you word-danced your way through your dissertation revisions
and who knows how many
poems, translations,
and giggle-inducing Facebook posts
about the bliss of sweatpants
the merits of a good (or really bad) Netflix binge

You penned epistles to us, your congregation of
Amigos Internetos
your absolute faith in us
infectious.
I was not immune.

I occupied myself with a purple pen on a yellow pad.
Pages later
the ice in my chai
melted
I looked up to find you

watching me.
And you said
“See?”

I have been waking up in the middle of the night
and remembering first thing in the morning
There won’t be
Anymore
Words
from you.

It takes my breath away, still,
when I check my FB notifications
and know none of them are from you
When some perfect confluence of coffee,
music,
and random conversation
leaves me grateful and delighted
as you were
with the Holiness of little things.

When I finally
finally
write a poem
and know you will never read it.

My knee-jerk reaction
to your gone-ness:
no words.

But I know you would tell me
to Write.
And find some solace in Netflix
sweatpants
Good carryout
and friends.

Your priest said at your funeral
“Okla walked the walk more than anyone I know”

And so, I offer
A few words.
A few steps
in your unfillable shoes.

I’ll keep taking your advice
#HappyRobotMonkeyMan

Rest in power

Rest in Peace.

Your memory will always be for a blessing.

And yes, I See.

 

 

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