Only because I had nothing to write about
did I start walking around the house,
slowly looking at everything with a writer’s eye.
It didn’t take long to find something
because I’ve just now seen that
the ceramic bowl we’ve had for years,
the one that holds all of our kitchen utensils,
has the word Family etched on it prominently.
Whose family? Does the motley collection
of utensils jammed in there too tightly together
consider itself a true family unit?
Because that’s the way they look to me now,
now that I’m walking around the house,
carefully looking at everything with a writer’s eye.
Although this earthenware crock
sits inches from the coffee pot
I use every morning and it houses
my very favorite wooden spaghetti spoon,
I’ve never really noticed
or thought for even a moment
about that word being there.
Nor have I questioned myself,
or anyone else in my own family,
as to why there are seven painted stars
circling the word Family,
as if the concept of family isn’t
special enough on its own
and needs to be dressed up some
to be noticed and appreciated.
Perhaps whoever made the bowl is right, though –
those seven stars didn’t work for me.
As I’ve said, I’ve never really seen
that word there before.
What else am I missing around here?