Imperfections

I am a lover of imperfections
Drawn to the rugged arches of 
My backyard patio
And the haphazard petunias 
In the rough black window boxes.

I do not crave 
The neatly manicured lawn
With the perfect robin
Pecking at the perfect worm
Or the ants in their perfect line formation
Trudging diligently to store for the winter.

Rather, I love the clashing colors
Of randomly planted flowers
In zigzag furrows
And the splashing robin 
In the bird bath
With the water drops
Going in every which direction
To form stained glass patterns
Against the afternoon sun.
I love the fallen mix and match cushions
On the stone patio floor
A book or two
On the uneven tables
A half-drunk tea cup
With a grain of sugar 
Fallen for the spider or the ant 
To carry away.

I am a lover of imperfections
Of organized chaos
Of oxymorons
And silly alliterations
Of poetic prose
And life
In all its contradictions
Worn lightly
And slightly frayed 
At the seams.

Copyright Kavita 2019