Out of nowhere 

 I notice

how my head doesn’t quite reach the top of the curve 

of this bell shaped chair when I’m sitting on the floor using it as a coffee table

how an old piece of floss, and a washcloth are flung like the rippling of my favorite quilt over one of its rungs

 how my finger  knows the trace of the letters on this mason jar so well that if I needed to read them in the middle of the night I could

(but I don’t, because I already know what they say)

how nice it is to have a spot to put my glass

a home to put my glass… 

someplace