Tuesday Sanctuary

Not the rare, not the golden,

not the saffron on the scale.

Just the vanilla in the kitchen

and my sister's terrible tale.

She told it wrong,

she always does, the ending came out first.

And we laughed until the table shook.

Cheap sugar.

Endless worth.

Vanilla laughter, ordinary light.

Nothing here is precious,

so everything is right.

The plainest afternoon on earth,

the greatest one I know.

Vanilla laughter,

filling up the room.

No velvet and no vintage,

just a fan that barely turns.

Ice cubes in cheap glasses,

the toast that always burns.

Vanilla laughter, ordinary light.

Nothing here is precious,

so everything is right.

Let the rare things stay in vaults,

let the saffron have its throne.

We are rich in Tuesday evenings.

We are rich in being known.

Vanilla laughter. Vanilla laughter.

Home.