Love’s Things

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Abstract

e’s things are picked up from the hardware store, in the wrong size, then taken back with crinkled receipts, rescued from dirty pockets, and replaced with what you meant, plus an apology.Love’s things arrive on dusty sheets, from the back of someone’s garage, to be reused, repainted, reimagined in a home where they’ll belong, just long enough.Love’s things have stories — tales of unexpected finds, discoveries made online, recovered from dubious states of disrepair to take their place “right there”.Love’s things are passed an

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d held and carried and loaned and borrowed and found and handed down.Love’s things absorb the grateful looks exchanged over ringmarked mugs and tools and lost pencils found behind ears.Love’s things hold tight to late night conversations hanging in the air — echoes of words that stick, like bristles, in the paint.Love’s gifts are time and patience, blood and sweat and tears and milk and tea and miles on the clock.My house is full of love’s things.© Amy Knight 2022</article></body>

A free-verse poem

An old spirit level that was used in the late 1970s-early 80s, gifted to the author by her father. It sits on an upcycled shelf which used to be part of a wardrobe.

Love’s things are not ordered from lifestyle catalogues, with glossy photos of sun-kissed models draped across designer furniture, pretending to read.

Love’s things are picked up from the hardware store, in the wrong size, then taken back with crinkled receipts, rescued from dirty pockets, and replaced with what you meant, plus an apology.

Love’s things arrive on dusty sheets, from the back of someone’s garage, to be reused, repainted, reimagined in a home where they’ll belong, just long enough.

Love’s things have stories — tales of unexpected finds, discoveries made online, recovered from dubious states of disrepair to take their place “right there”.

Love’s things are passed and held and carried and loaned and borrowed and found and handed down.

Love’s things absorb the grateful looks exchanged over ringmarked mugs and tools and lost pencils found behind ears.

Love’s things hold tight to late night conversations hanging in the air — echoes of words that stick, like bristles, in the paint.

Love’s gifts are time and patience, blood and sweat and tears and milk and tea and miles on the clock.

My house is full of love’s things.