World Poetry Day

Today is World Poetry Day, whatever that means. Coming up next month, we will celebrate National Poetry Month. It's nice to have these labels, but it's not necessary. You don't need a day or a month to remind you to read poetry. I think the real reminders are life's ups and downs. When something good happens, you want to find the right poem to put your happiness into words. When something bad happens, diddo.

Something bad has happened. I know that something bad has happened to all of you at one or more times in your lives. We can all relate. At these times, it's hard to find the words for our feelings. Poems help me make sense of the sadness and give me hope for recovery. Today, I share this poem with you. I share my grief.

I found this poem by Dorianne Laux in the book ten poems to say goodbye by Roger Housden. It hints at the loss of a romantic partner, but I think it applies to any great loss. It certainly captures my thoughts better than any other poem I have found.

How It Will Happen, When

by Dorianne Laux 

 

There you are, exhausted from a night of crying,

curled up on the couch, the floor, at the foot of the bed,

anywhere you fall you fall down crying, half amazed

at what the body is capable of, not believing you can cry

anymore. And there they are, his socks, his shirt, your underwear

and your winter gloves, all in a loose pile

next to the bathroom door, and you fall down again.

Someday, years from now, things will be different,

the house clean for once, everything in its place, windows

shining, sun coming in easily now, skimming across

the thin glaze of wax on the wood floor. You’ll be peeling

an orange or watching a bird leap from the edge of the rooftop

next door, noticing how, for an instant, her body is trapped

in the air, only a moment before gathering the will to fly

into the ruff at her wings, and then doing it: flying.

You’ll be reading, and for a moment you'll see a word 

you don’t recognize, a simple word like cup or gate or wisp

and you’ll ponder over it like a child discovering language. 

Cup, you’ll say it over and over until it begins to make sense,

and that’s when you’ll say it, for the first time, out loud: He’s dead.

He’s not coming back, and it will be the first time you believe it.