In Careful Hands
for D.B.A.

apologizing, or trying to
for having, the day before, hung the phone up

offended and annoyed
that I was passionately conveying something
and she was not listening
was instead otherwise occupied
multitasking, her usual explanation

forgiving me or understanding,
the following day, she called back

tried to convey how I thought, how I feared
I had lost her, how I felt I had thrown her away
and how, almost immediately, I'd begun to regret it
though I'd hung up over what I'd hung up

upon reflecting, upon what else transpired
during that same call

I recalled her singing, awfully and delightfully
“Singing in the Rain” to entertain herself and me

recalled her laughter, her giggling delightfully
recalled when I did have her attention fully
when we were attached like twins
like we sometimes are, at times can be

I had, without differentiating,
thrown away the good with the bad
the bitter with the sweet
is what I was attempting to convey
along with apologies for ringing off
like I did, when I did, the day before

you know there always will be something,
Obi, she said
that part that is utterly delicious
part that is a dish of delight

suggesting that always
when we connected, in what we experienced
there is, was and always will be

that precious part, some precious part
she and I would wish to cherish
and not overturn, not spill or dispose of

what wisdom, I thought, and what confidence
in herself and in us, in what we are capable
of making, come what may
or in spite of whatever arose or arises

there would be always that bit, those drops
the divine itself provided, not to be treated
or taken lightly but to be sipped or savored
or preserved in a jar with a lid, in careful hands


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:36 a.m. 22.10.10