I didn’t know I loved the smell of coffee on Sundays,
Sipping it, wearing a nightgown, reading the paper.
I didn’t know how much I loved saying nothing,
Until I let myself.
I didn’t know I liked picking up other people’s words
When they were dropped.
I didn’t know what barefoot felt like,
Until I hurt my soles, soles becoming leather,
Until I felt like some Puerto Rican grandma
Whose shoes are falling apart.
How could I have known how much I like the beauty
Of things falling apart,
Because we all do at times?
I didn’t know I loved tonight,
Until I stayed up through all of it,
Wondering what everyone was doing,
With the lights off, at that exact moment.
And then it was gone.
I didn’t know I liked to cackle,
Which makes me grin,
Which I also like (when it’s from the heart.)
I didn’t know how to embrace the rain,
Until I pranced in it,
Swallowed it,
And caught a cold because of it.
I didn’t know I needed home,
Until I wasn’t in it, and didn’t have one.
I thought I liked the sound of car crashes
Until Momma told me he died in one,
Which made me change my mind.
I didn’t know I loved the sound of typewriter keys
Until I smashed them,
With savage fingers,
So they all went off at once,
Jangling, percussive,
My literary philharmonic.