Dear ones,

I just posted a poem called Gate C22 over in The Poetry Nook. It’s by Ellen Bass and it took my breath away. I happened upon it at Porter Square Books a few days ago and it was love at first read and it’s not abating. (You may want to click on the link above to read it and come back).

Can you stand it? All that joy? The full delight in a moment no matter what one’s poundage or age? I hope you enjoy the poem and its delicious images as much as I.

Maybe it’s Gate C22, but I have a terrible itch to travel. No need to go far. I can’t, these days. But tomorrow I’m off to Provincetown! I’m on my way by ferry in the morning. Just for the day. I’ve never been. All I know is that it’s on the tip of the Cape, it’s the ocean, it’s notably gay and colorful, and home to many fab and famous artists, playwrights, novelists, and poets, including, yes, Mary Oliver. I imagine bumping into her:

“Hi, I’m Heidi. I love your poems.” (Doy! Don’t fail me now, words!)

To which she’d, ever gracious, reply, “thank you, dear.”

In my dream she’d offer to show me around, and, not being stupid, I’d politely accept. She’d show me the forest where she slept on the mossy floor and vanished into something better; I’d meet her dog Percy; maybe we’d walk on the beach. I’d thank her for Wild Geese and for When Death Comes. Maybe she’d ask if I write any poems of my own. I’d blush yes. I might let her read. But mostly we’d probably just sit in silence, maybe on her porch sipping iced tea. Or sangria. Or lemonade. Or just plain old P-town tap water. With Mary Oliver, I’d sip anything. But anyhow, where was I… oh yes, traveling and seeing new places, having new eyes…

It’s what I love about poetry. It’s like traveling without having to leave anywhere. It connects me to myself and the world. It helps me see newness in the ordinary same-old. Dormant parts stir and maybe wake up for the very first time. I recognize within myself what I’ve been quick to label foreign. I appreciate my own mundane life and surroundings with the fresh eyes of a visitor. Poetry makes me cry, laugh, smile, sigh, but mostly it makes me curious, and curiosity is just about the best companion to have on this life journey.

What about you? What’s your favorite poem these days?