Poem for 4/26/23 - Throwing Children by Ross Gay

I received this poem in my inbox this morning and had to share it (even if just to the few folks who even glance at this blog). Not only does it resonate with my own experience of tossing my children into the air and catching them every time, it also seems to capture something of what we do when we connect joyfully with others, whether in conversation, music, play, or romance--we throw one another as high as we possibly can while promising to make the catch, even we know that part of the thrill comes from not being certain we will actually connect on the way down...

Throwing Children

Ross Gay

It is really something when a kid who has a hard time becomes a kid who’s having a good time in no small part thanks to you throwing that kid in the air again and again on a mile long walk home from the Indian joint as her mom looks sideways at you like you don’t need to keep doing this because you’re pouring with sweat and breathing a little bit now you’re getting a good workout but because the kid laughs like a horse up there laughs like a kangaroo beating her wings against the light because she laughs like a happy little kid and when coming down and grabbing your forearm to brace herself for the time when you will drop her which you don’t and slides her hand into yours as she says for the fortieth time the fiftieth time inexhaustible her delight again again again and again and you say give me til the redbud tree or give me til the persimmon tree because she knows the trees and so quiet you almost can’t hear through her giggles she says ok til the next tree when she explodes howling yanking your arm from the socket again again all the wolves and mourning doves flying from her tiny throat and you throw her so high she lives up there in the tree for a minute she notices the ants organizing on the bark and a bumblebee carousing the little unripe persimmon in its beret she laughs and laughs as she hovers up there like a bumblebee like a hummingbird up there giggling in the light like a giddy little girl up there the world knows how to love.

Copyright © 2023 by Ross Gay. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 26, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.

Poem for 4/19/23 - “The Creation Story” - by Joy Harjo

 My apologies for the long silence! Passover knocked me for a loop and then it's been difficult to get myself back in the flow... hoping that will be temporary!

“The Creation Story” 

Joy Harjo

I’m not afraid of love

or its consequence of light.

 

It’s not easy to say this

or anything when my entrails

dangle between paradise

and fear.

 

I am ashamed

I never had the words

to carry a friend from her death

to the stars

correctly.

 

Or the words to keep

my people safe

from drought

or gunshot.

 

The stars who were created by words

are circling over this house

formed of calcium, of blood

 

this house

in danger of being torn apart

by stones of fear.

 

If these words can do anything

if these songs can do anything

I say bless this house

with stars.

 

Transfix us with love.

 

 

Reprinted from The Woman Who Fell from the Sky by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 1994 by Joy Harjo.

Poem for 4/11/23 - Don’t Hesitate by Mary Oliver

A friend pointed me to this poem--very grateful for it.

Don’t Hesitate

BY MARY OLIVER

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case.
Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Poems for 4/10/23 - Three Poems by Billy Collins

Three Poems by Billy Collins (from his book, Musical Tables).

Junior Philosopher

I'll have this figured out in no time,
he announced,
as he faced the Cosmic Void.
He was wearing
a clean white shirt
and holding
the tool kit of reason
by its handy leather strap.

Zen Backfire

The only time
I cut myself shaving

Is when I'm aware
that I'm shaving.

Neighborhood

What do I care
that they're tearing down
the nice old houses
and putting up brutal ones?

Before very long,
I'll just be a breeze
blowing around town,
trying to avoid all the wind chimes.