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


Reminded her of what it was like to walk in a cornfield,


“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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