Miniatures

Some mornings, my roommate and I write poems. Lately we’ve been doing my exercise of recipe poems – basically, take a recipe and use the ingredients list or some of the supplementary material as a launch points. (I’ve got about a chapbook’s worth of these…)

Yesterday was “corn risotto” but the side bar about baby corn was more interesting and made me think about miniatures…(the rule with these exercises is that you have to finish in 15 minutes and not revise, at least not right away, it’s more like a game, less like high art…) For example:

I used to love miniatures.

When Gulliver was tiny, giants built him toy houses and stitched doll clothes.

When you are miniature, no one sees you, but you can hide in convenient places and

watch them – be privy to stories you shouldn’t know and secrets you don’t have to do anything about.

 And nothing you do matters, because it will be so small.

You can protect yourself against cats with

            straight pins and knitting needles

And never have to do bills

            because you are too small to cost much.

And everything you have -  thread spool tables, toothpick fence posts, thimble cups –

 is stolen,

(laws are made for bigger people.)

You can have wonderful adventures in Christmas villages

                        and on toy train models

(Though remember, your world is bound by a season or a circle)

Never mind: see how pretty the Christmas lights are?

The snow isn’t even cold (though cotton makes for lousy snowballs)

And eating your body weight in gumdrops is easy.

I think the thing that occurred to me is how I think I’ve been living a miniature life in some ways. I’ve heard that the definition of humility is being right-sized – being neither too small, nor too big. Historically, I’ve struggled with trying to dodge attention, or grab too much of it. Like most addicts, I tend to either try to be the best or the worst. I remember hearing a woman in a meeting once, praying to be one of many – a friend among friend, a worker among workers. She didn’t mean it in a mediocre way. But I think there is some significant value in trying to be the (metaphoric) size you are.

Sometimes, it’s easier to be mini-me.

So, the psalm of the day is #19, and the first section goes like this:  “The heavens are telling the glory of God;/and the firmament proclaims his handiwork./Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge./There is no speech, nor are there words;/their voice is not heard;/yet their voice goes out through all the earth,/and their words to the end of the world.”

What struck me here was that in just being, the heavens, day and night, all attest to the glory of the divine. Like the silent praise that is implicit in just being who we are created to be. (Anything less would mess up the big sing. ;-)

(I know this entry is a little slight, but I wanted to get back into posting. More soon...)