What it is not; what it really is

For a loner, I can be quite a relational person.
This Mercury is not the statue in the art museum;
it is the place I met a person I instantly knew I would not like.
The blow dryer I used this morning is not a mere household object;
it is a remnant someone left behind in the drawers on the right side of the sink.
The throw blanket on the couch is not just the thing that keeps me warm;
it is the note that came with it. Something beautiful my brother said.
That mug, to my left, is not the thing holding my decaf coffee;
it is the souvenir I got from a writing workshop in Grand Rapids,
the workshop where Kate DiCamillo reminded me to write.
The necklace hanging around my neck is not a piece of jewelry;
it is the person who gave it to me. And the day on which it was given:
the horses, the blue sky, the church near The Center of the World, OH.
That necklace is laced with chicken wings, an azalea plant,
the smell of fire burning, the lazy dog by the fire, that moment in the car,
the one after the silence, when I said, "Yes, you can come. Come follow me home."