Sticky Side Up

My mom, with three young kids in tow,
would wrap painter’s tape around our wrists sticky side up,
and send us into the yard to find the treasures.

From our regular yard,
we found the colored rocks,
leftover confetti,
heart-shaped leaves,
and pressed them gently to the tape.

These tiny found things, making bracelets of treasure from the ordinary.

As I’ve lived,
life hasn’t felt too far from that.

I’ve collected.

I’ve collected the people who can be.

The ones who see a porch as a home base.
The ones who feed their dogs pancakes.
The ones who see designs in broken dishes.
Those who pick up confetti just to throw it again.

I’ve collected the people who pitch tents in the yard just to make more room.
The ones who turn a plane ticket into a homecoming.
The ones who hug you without a rush,
and the ones who keep your favorite beer in the fridge - just in case.

I collect the people who can be.

The ones who remind me that living means noticing,
that even the ordinary deserves to be celebrated.

So we live the moments longer;
We linger longer.

My tape, just a fraction of the way through,
already cluttered and shining with treasures,
each one carried preciously, and near.

As I grow, the tape stretches with me, still sticky side up.

There is so much room, until one day I’ll look down
to see it in full,
embedded with the sidewalk treasures
from a lifetime’s regular backyards.