In a heartbeat, the oriental rug
Became a sea of
Tiny glass beads.

I asked if I should pick them up
Or find the vacuum.
“I’ll get them,” she says.
I would have just vacuumed them.
I go about my day.

Later, I consider the sea of
Tiny glass beads
Scattered on the oriental rug.

Is their worth diminished
Because their container changed?
Is their purpose different
Because they sat upon the floor?

I, too, have sat upon the floor
Drunk and high, sick and sobbing
Lamenting what had become of me
My container has changed

And yet, here I am
Just as me and just as worthy
As when I sat upon the floor

The difference
Between then and now
Is the painstaking effort
Of the ones I share love with
Who picked up the thousands
Of tiny glass beads
When I could have just been vacuumed away.


Helen Rose
December 18, 2018

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