I tuck my little habits where
the daylight wouldn’t think to stare:
a task postponed, a thought rehearsed,
the easy thing attended first.
I keep a “later” close at hand,
a small and densely peopled land,
where good intentions sit for tea
and say, “We’ll start at half past three.”
I give excuses softer chairs
and listen kindly to their prayers.
“Of course I’m tired. Of course, stay in.”
Then fetch a blanket for the sin.
My inner critic clears its throat;
I help it button up its coat.
“You’ve made your point. Now have some bread.
We’ll try again when we’ve been fed.”
And if these habits overstay,
I needn’t turn myself away.
Leave room for change, but room to rest;
a crowded heart can do its best.
Let this be folded, warm and wide,
an envelope with me inside—
no stern address, no debt come due,
just: “Welcome home. There’s room for you!”
-Mani