Poetry 144: Ordinary

Ordinary

I always thought

I was supposed to

be more than

ordinary.

Because somewhere

along the way,

ordinary became

equated with

not enough.

But when my

daughter crawls

into my bed, 

and nestles

her little body

as close as

she possibly can

into that

nook along

the curve of

my own,

I have to wonder,

maybe this is

ordinary.

And maybe this

is enough.

-Me

Dedicated to American Poet Mary Oliver 1935-2019. Rest in peace.