Famous
By Naomi Shihab Nye
The river is famous to the fish.
The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.
The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.
The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.
The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.
The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.
The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.
I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.
I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.
I like this a lot. I want to try to be the best buttonhole I can be. Over my lifetime I have let some buttons down. I didn't hold on tightly enough, and they fell out, or I grabbed too tightly and squeezed the life out of the buttons.
I'm working on trying to be a better buttonhole. Will the people who know me IRL please help me to be open to you at just the right comfort level? And please be kind when I forget and let you fall or when I squeeze too hard. I'll be back at just the right buttonhole-ness as soon as I get back on my path. Just remember that I love you!
3 comments:
C: What a sweet post. You are so sincere.
Lol. I just saw this today! Isn't it a great poem? I loved it instantly... I'm working on doing what I can do, too! ;)
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