that I am a professional friend.
and third favorite colors
in case the blue rag is dirty
in case the world is already too loud
and the wrong shade tips it over.
with blockbuster-level enthusiasm
after a week that has wrung you out-
“Madagascar 3! Europe’s Most Wanted!”
Rooting through my closet
to find something pink for UNO night-
is better than winning alone.
Sitting on the bench with B
as he cries about something
in a perfect paper parabola
like confetti should fall from the ceiling.
how serious he is about bets.
That is barely scratching the surface
who call it “meaningful work,”
who say, “I could never do that,”
people are proud of something
they don’t fully understand.
to be good at loving someone
Not everyone will understand that.
The praise that keeps me going
doesn’t arrive in performance reviews.
It arrives folded in crayon-
and third favorite colors.
A last-minute drop-in to my classroom
And I know he says it to everyone.
He presses each word out carefully,
It never loses its weight.
Rich in the way someone looks for me
Poor in the way the world counts.
Poor in the way budgets are written.
Poor in the way compassion
So pay direct support professionals more.
We are not just caregivers.
We are historians of favorite colors.
Witnesses to 8:45 a.m. tears.
Champions of napkin shots.
Keepers of five-dollar debts.
We pour every drop of our souls
into work that asks for everything
And gratitude is beautiful-
but it does not cover rent.
real, relentless, whole-hearted friendship-