small comforts



small comforts are the packages of distrust
in my bulging shirt-pocket, hanging by
its last threads —

i am a tea kettle, stationary as a decor,
another plaything of the gentry — ideas
pushed into my gut like a day-old
pastry — stringent, decadent, slightly off,

i am a damp kitchen towel of moderate
temperatures — calescent on the fore-
head, dizzy with the worry of a fresh
lack of sickness — rich, sweet, a little off,

i am a window curtain kneeling on
the tartan floor — the warm breeze sets in
and moves around in its obvious rhythm of
convalescence — swift, heavy, switched off,

— i take small comforts through the nights,
carry them along the crooked lines, one
inclined thread hanging by the other.


Image source: Ragina Bogat, This Way That, 1990

For MLM Menagerie’s Wordle. Also linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads.

22 thoughts on “small comforts

  1. sanaarizvi says:

    Gosh this is incredibly poignant! ❤ You describe the act of survival through daily challenges in life with such precision. Especially like; “the warm breeze sets in and moves around in its obvious rhythm of convalescence”… it’s a spot on image of relief and recuperation. Courage, dear heart as C.S. Lewis says 😊

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I like the sense of discomfort you have built in with those disquieting metaphors which challenge the reader to rethink their ideas about small comforts. Also, there are some inspired line breaks here.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This makes me feel a combination of discomfort, slight delirium, and those ‘small comforts’ – reminiscent of being sick and convalescent as a child. I feel again getting restless and hot, throwing the tangled blankets off, then wanting to pull them back and snuggle under them; the pleasure when someone smooths the sheets….

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I was just telling someone what I love about your poetry, about your style… I told him, “I just love how he poems in moving pictures that find a home in my skull.” I tried explaining what I meant, and I think I did a half-decent job at it–saying that reading your poetry is like seeing it happen through someone else’s eyes but still feeling it bone deep. I’m sending him this link.. this poem exactly what I meant. I will never be able to look at curtains pooling on the floor, without thinking, They are kneeling.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Wow Anmol. I was telling my husband just the other day how disconnected I was feeling in my kitchen. A rare feeling indeed. As I read this poem I knew the why for the disconnect. It felt like I had a fever or was eating cereal with milk that was on the edge of the edge, one more day and it will be over. This is truly an inspired poem.

    Liked by 1 person

    • And we try to do it as well as we can. My idea is that we have nothing to prove to others — so any comparison with others’ personal achievements and victories is invalid — like any other art, it first and foremost belongs to us and it’s our individual trajectories which matter more than anything else.
      Thank you for your kind words. 🙂


  6. I love the way you’ve taken everyday objects and imbued them with human feelings and emotions. The lists of three are really effective at the end of each of the middle stanzas. I particularly like the lines:
    ‘…the warm breeze sets in
    and moves around in its obvious rhythm of

    Liked by 1 person

  7. mhmp77 says:


    i take small comforts through the nights,
    carry them along the crooked lines, one
    inclined thread hanging by the other.

    Small comforts tend to impact more as it wants to significantly be noticed by the eye! It will turn out that way invariably!


    Liked by 1 person

  8. Pat: willow88switches says:

    This is a wrap around poem; it opens with such a peculiar idea, so gripping and powerful for the words … a strong image of pocket, hanging on by threads, and Distrust – wow – that is incredible. And the idea that distrust/mistrust – becomes “normal” – a state of what is familiar and comfortable. And the ending of the poem – ties it all back up, and we circle back to the beginning, and end up reading again and again, to let the weight of the words just sink in. The filling is both luscious and odd – and so necessary. This is truly a fascinating poem and carries within it a golden weight and lightness.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ah, I love how you say that this filling is both luscious and odd. The stuffings in life are such that even the oddities become so natural to our way of doing things and going along with it.
      Thank you so much for an insightful comment — your kind words are appreciated. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • Pat: willow88switches says:

        LOL@ luscious and odd – and yes HA, life is exactly that … stuffing, oddities, comforts in all kinds of strangeness, yet strangely satisfying (mostly) … my pleasure 🙂


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