Plain Things

Plain Things
Betsy McKenzie

I thought the little blue moths
That flew up as I ran through the grass
Were nicer than the butterflies.
I was too young to stand up
For my ideas when my mother
Pursed her lips in distaste.

When we went to the shore,
I found the loveliest bits of glass.
My brother shook his head –
“That’s nothing but bits of broken glass,”
He said, dismissively.
I reluctantly let the pieces fall to the ground.

I could not find the words
To explain why I thought
These things were nicer.
There was nobody to help me
Articulate a theory of
The value of plain things.

March 11, 2006