Poem For the Perfectionist

Reflectionism

You

prepare a table

before me

my cup

runs over

and I

worry about the spill

table manners

you desire

are only

open hands

gratitude

the poison of perfectionism

has seeped into my feast

but I wean

off

the poison drink

and instead sip

grace

discovering I am only

the glass

which might reflect

your love, your face

getting it right

trumped by

reflecting your light




(Thank you to Ann Voskamp for the idea of perfectionism being a poison.)