A Poem Waiting to Be Found

There is a poem here,
but I don’t want to promote it.

I don’t want it to come to you—that easy.
I want you to come to it.
To find it.
To rescue it from a strange corner on the internet,
from a dusty shelf,
or a quiet store.

I want it to find a home in your home,
to travel with you in your car,
to be tucked in your purse.
I want your eyes to see it,
and your heart to feel it.
For you to treasure it,
because it brings meaning to a moment,
or revives a memory.

And in the process,
I want it to rescue you.

I want you to find it in the corner café,
in the hands of a beautiful stranger,
so captivated, they miss your gaze.
To find it in the book your best friend swears you’ll love.

I want it to surprise you,
to stop you mid-scroll.
To be among the pages you turn
with careful fingertips,
you’ll press to your lips.

I want you to read it on a subway car in a strange country,
on your commute to work,
in the back of a car on a mid-summer ride,
with your windows down,
feeling the breeze and the warmth of the sun on your skin.
I want you to remember it.

I want it to consume you, to inspire you.
For you to give it meaning—
draw from it what you need,
whatever it serves.

I want you to rescue my poetry from its solitude.
To give you pause.
To keep you company,
and to be the company you keep.

To be found by chance,
and kept by choice.

I don’t want to promote my poetry,
but quietly, I hope it finds the world.
I want it to speak volumes,
to find you when it’s ready—
to slip into your heart
and add poetry to your life.