Lost. And Found.
I love socks. Always have. I have “popsicle toes” so socks help. Golf socks. Knee socks. Bobby socks. Doesn’t matter. I don’t discriminate. I love them all.
My favorite shopping web site is www.joyofsocks.com The colors, the designs, the craziness. Almost too much to bear. But I manage. Quite well, actually.
And, oh, how I hate to lose a sock. Was it eaten? By the dryer? The dog? The cat?
To paraphrase Ms. Peep: “Where, oh, where did that little sock go? Where, oh, where could it be?”
I have a friend. She’s a poet. Her name is Elizabeth Robin. She wrote a poem about the overwhelming joy of finding that long lost sock. She said it so well. I hold her poem close to my heart and in my sock drawer. It helps me stay upbeat and positive about finding the lost one. With her permission, I am sharing her poem with you. I hope you, too, will find comfort in her words.
A Simple Pleasure
today i found that sock
the one that disappeared in the laundry months ago
the one i sifted and sorted and searched to recover
the one that was cushy and fuzzy and warm
the one that brought piggly wiggly joy
reunited with its lonely twin
the one who’s been waiting in that dark, cold drawer, alone
so patiently, trusting her double would return some day
abandoned twin haunting the sock drawer
taunting my helplessness, my haphazard wardrobe control
and just when i’d abandoned all hope, there, just there
inside the form-fitting folds of last season’s sheets
there, yes there, better than graduation and trophies and christmas morning
euphoria, because today
i found that sock
©Elizabeth Robin