Discover Beautiful Poetry for Every Moment

I woke before you and did nothing about it. The radiator ticked. Your shoulder rose and fell.

It isn't sadness. Sadness has a shape— you can walk around it, point to it, explain it to a doctor

You have never asked me how my day was and yet you are the only one

My mother's hands could find a fever through a forehead, could tell a melon's ripeness

There's a word for the way your coffee cup still sits on the second shelf where no one else would put it—

Blessed are those who aren't sure. Blessed are those who came to church for the singing, stayed for the quiet,