poetry 9: a poem should always have birds in it
Singapore -Mary Oliver In Singapore, in the airport, A darkness was ripped from my eyes. In the women’s restroom, one compartment stood open. A woman knelt there, washing something in the white bowl. Disgust argued in my stomach and I felt, in my pocket, for my ticket. A poem should …
poetry 8: once I believed in you
Vespers [“Once I believed in you…”] Once I believed in you; I planted a fig tree. Here, in Vermont, country of no summer. It was a test: if the tree lived, it would mean you existed. By this logic, you do not exist. Or you exist exclusively in warmer climates, …
poetry 7: freeing the secret gods
Family Secrets -Toi Derricotte They told my cousin Rowena not to marry Calvin―she was too young, just eighteen, & he was too dark, too too dark, as if he had been washed in what we wanted to wipe off our hands. Besides, he didn’t come from a good family. He …
poetry 6: consider the hands that write this letter
How do we write? Not just the physicality of the act, beautiful enough – hands against paper – but more than that: holding the door to ourselves shut and knocking to get in, simultaneously. Lovely. Lovely. A poem first posted on 37days for National Poetry Month in 2007, it bears …
poetry 5: the fuel that feeds you
Hidden If you place a fern under a stone the next day it will be nearly invisible as if the stone has swallowed it. If you tuck the name of a loved one under your tongue too long without speaking it it becomes blood sigh the little sucked-in breath of …
poetry 4: pictures of home
Pictures of Home In the red-roofed stucco house of my childhood, the dining room was screened off by folding doors with small glass panes. Our neighbors the Bertins, who barely escaped Hitler, often joined us at table. One night their daughter said, In Vienna our dining room had doors like …
strong offer friday : I am back.
After 3 years of teaching exclusively online, I am back to teaching and speaking out in the world. Not as much as I used to, because I still want and need to be home for my daughter, Tess, as she navigates her Aspie world, but I’ve missed the interactions and …
poetry 3: skin remembers
Two Countries -Naomi Shihab Nye Skin remembers how long the years grow when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel of singleness, feather lost from the tail of a bird, swirling onto a step, swept away by someone who never saw it was a feather. Skin ate, walked, slept by …
poetry 2: the woman in the ordinary
The Woman in the Ordinary The woman in the ordinary pudgy downcast girl is crouching with eyes and muscles clenched. Round and pebble smooth she effaces herself under ripples of conversation and debate. The woman in the block of ivory soap has massive thighs that neigh, great breasts that blare …
poetry 1: that the science of cartography is limited
Every April, I celebrate national poetry month with a poem each day here at 37days. I hope you will enjoy this frolic through metaphor even half as much as I do. I know, I know. At least half of you are moaning. “I hate poetry,” you’re saying to yourself. “I never …
