On coming full circle
and changing your course for the day
This is what I love about poetry. You can move miles on an interior journey in a matter of minutes.
I woke up to a winter wonderland today. Although it was forecast to be snow, and even after the text message on my phone announced my workplace would be closed today, I’m still surprised to see it. My spouse Janyce was awake with the sunlamp and I hear her now, moving around in the kitchen and making the coffee. I’m lying still with the covers pulled up to my chin, poking out one bare arm to reach for my phone on the bedside table. One of my friends is right there after I text my simple, “good morning.” She is having a tough time lately. She calls herself a shrew. “Not a shrew,” I say. “You just want to see something different happen this time.”
I want to see something different happen today, too. But it’s not a real snow day for me. It’s Friday morning. I have to move from this bed to another room, open up my laptop, and get started on a bunch of applications.
“It’s really beautiful out,” says Janyce. “And the bird feeder is teeming.” She hands me a cup of coffee and pulls open the curtains wide to display the full view of nature’s handiwork right outside the window.
“Do you have any meetings this morning?” I say.
“Not until 10:00,” she says.
“I’ll be up soon,” I say. “I’ll make us french toast.”
I read a formal poem the other day called a pantoum. It has a kind of circular rhythm to it. It’s made up of several four-line stanzas with an a/b/a/b rhyming pattern. The second line of the first stanza serves as the the start of the second stanza. It goes on like this, repeating and interacting with new ideas, until something changes. The poem ultimately ends with the same first line— either written verbatim—or slightly altered. But the meaning is definitely changed by the time you get to the end.
I look down at my texting conversation with my friend. Let me just try something:
A pantoum text message to a friend in the morning
I’m sorry you have that kind of stress at home
Me too, I had a lot of goals this year
Back to sleeping ten hours a night… or reading a poem
I can’t seem to do anything else I fear.
Yes, I had a lot of goals this year
For one, I had planned to get my act together
I can’t seem to do anything else I fear.
I plump up the pillow, breathe in the feather
I had planned to get my act together
And write pages and pages of meter and rhyme
I plump up the pillow, breathe in the feather
Roll me in the quilt, I’ve got nothing but time
That’s it! this chat will be meter and rhyme
No sleeping ten hours, I’m writing a poem
We can’t seem to do anything else, that’s fine
I’m sorry, we have that kind of stress at home The first line is simply meant to be empathetic agreement. But by the end, it turns into a justification, and a reason for action. This is what I love about poetry. You can move miles on an interior journey in a matter of minutes.
When I finish writing, I send it off to my friend.
“I love it!” she says. “I’m going into my studio today to work. Thank you for always inspiring me.”
“Hey, didn’t someone say french toast?” says Janyce, calling from the other room.
“Someone DID say french toast,” I say, walking into the living room and taking in the snow-covered view of the back yard through the sliding-glass door. “Wow, it’s going to be a beautiful day.”