A poem of the Ordinary things

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the tea cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursqare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How the soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And the soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back,
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

By Pat Schneider