The sky is fresh, my thoughts fly.
A little boy shakes up his orange soda
and his mother panics,
holding it out the car window.
“I hate when that happens,”
I say, trying to share grace
in a grocery store parking lot.
I conclude that small moments
are not insignificant.
I vow to write them down,
to save them somewhere,
because they fly away
so quickly there is no time
to savor them.
They are like drops of chocolate ice cream
sweetly, swiftly melting
on the tongue.
No matter how you want them
to linger, they melt away.
In this orange soda moment,
I offer my heart to God,
vowing to let my pen
keep the importance of small things
like treasures in a box.
Somehow, I believe that these small moments in parking lots
grow large in God’s eyes, larger than we know,
while those things we think are important,
like stock markets and bank accounts
are very small indeed…
destined to be forgotten in eternity.
But, small boys with sodas live on in poems
that do not rhyme, and hearts that remember.