A Short List: 3 Poems I Can’t Stop Thinking About (Again)
I’ve been perusing my own archives lately and while the world wants us to push forward, move fast, and consume more, I’ve found much comfort and inspiration in halting instead, to re-read and reflect on the poems I’ve saved, with a new perspective that comes from passing time. Here are a few I dusted off recently, happy I kept them:
Her First Calf by Wendell Berry
My firstborn turns 12 in a few weeks, a milestone birthday making me nostalgic for his baby years, the smell of his hair when I nuzzled him and the way he looked at me (Mama magic I used to say). This poem not only reminds me of my pregnancy with him, how this short girl gained 50+ pounds, morphing into a slow heavy animal those months, but more so, how I felt when I saw him, how the messy, scattered history of my life led up to that one moment. From a poem I wrote for him then, “…when we met, I understood the inherent cycle, why I was born, faith and future realized.”
As our relationship continues to grow, my poem and this one hold more weight even though parenting feels more complicated at times. I still have Her First Calf framed in his almost teenage room, near the deodorant, the candy wrappers, the dirty soccer socks, where I sneak in at night to kiss his forehead because he won’t let me anymore in the light of day.
Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard by Mary Oliver
Autumn in Minnesota is a writer’s dream. We can’t resist seeking new ways to describe the changing colors. However, when I tried “fire and fleeting” today (in an early draft of a poem I’ll likely abandon), it didn’t feel original.
I decided to move on and write instead about the wild creatures that survive our varied seasons through toughness or escape: hibernating bears, migrating birds, and nocturnal predators whose strange traits, like an ability to rotate their heads all the way around, provide prowess all year long.
Mary Oliver, wisest mother of nature poetry, describes the little owl in this poem with such richness, romance, and alluring darkness, I was reminded there are always fresh ways to describe the natural world and inspired to keep trying.
3. Axe Handles by Gary Snyder
I read this long before I had my sons but found much beauty back then in the layered scene Snyder crafts in this poem. However, as I re-read his words today and imagined the forest scene again, I thought more about myself as the teacher and the student with a deeper understanding of how much we bring to every experience and interaction.
I thought of the wisdom and gifts we are given from our mentors, our parents, our children, and as always, from the wood and from the trees.