Poetry highlight: A watched pot never boils
“A watched pot never boils,” so she took her bags and left.
She gazed up past tree tufts,
Beyond skyline
The blue above reminded her of water
And the clouds, of steam
Sandwiched between vapor and soil,
She forgot the earth was spinning.
She ventured to a riverbed
Shifting underwater landscape,
She looked closer
To reveal critters otherwise unnoticeable
A crawfish hidden under a rock
Or a salamander held still
The vegetation scattered about
Made a living hideout
And
Reminded her of what it was like to walk in a cornfield,
Unseen.
“A watched pot never boils,” unless you’re blind, of course.
A deer stops in front of glowing beams
A stillness could forgive this
Eyes glazed in anticipation
Frozen equals unseen
Would it leap away
if it hadn’t seen the lights?
“I’d like to be a tree,” she thought.
Us humans,
plagued by our senses
Never to see anything unpleasant
No need to stare at still water
until ripples concave its surface
To be so at peace,
Patience doesn’t require waiting.
A watched artist makes poor art
Vacant house left to bubble
Without the distraction of a watchful gaze
Water droplets formed at the edges of the pot
Like choreographed swimmers
Mesmerizing process,
Done alone
An unwatched pot does things you’ll never see.
You can look now
A kettle, steaming stream of scream
Put a grin on her face
This time didn’t feel too long
She let it bubble and spit
before pouring it into her mug
It was the best tea she ever had.
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