i wave without slowing and my garage door enables my cowardice. i have become too used to the ease and quick of it’s closing to protect me from pulse raising moments of what-should-i-say-do-i-mention-the-always-safe-rain-in-arizona-do-they-know-i mean-my-how-are-you-what-are-the-rules-about-too-personal-of-a-question-again?
i do not know how to do it, this small talking. these appetizer words that should be selected from held high trays and nibbled on first. i almost drop them. i fumble with the crumbs and nervously press sticky fingers together, unsure of where the napkins are kept.
small talk is this standing on front porch waiting to be invited in. not knowing if more of me is wanted. it is this speaking through decorative metaled security door and feeling the in front of mirror evaluation.
i find comfort in deep. scuba-diving thirty meters down is this safety-lined nest of i can see and understand while snorkeling at ocean’s top is uncertainty defined. a place of not knowing what could come.
i grew up with come-in-sit-down-can-i-get-you-a-drink-by-the-way-before-i-ever-met-you-i-already-decided-there-is-room-at-the-dinner-table-if-you-would-like-to-stay. i do not want to give it up. so many have no place to be at home. and my home is guest-roomed. i know that i am just not sure how to take turns with the moments of only introduction and nothing more.
it feels unfinished. but not everything requires finishing. sometimes a moment with is one leg of relay. i do not need to look for only whole race run. but to take the baton for just that time.
and each encounter holds worth. like inspiration opening you up to more even when thought is forgotten. and like giving up the driving through to step inside, i am learning to laugh at crumbs on cheek. reach for the napkin i sometimes remember to get and be open to tasting this conversation.