I am winter’s meadow


I am winter’s meadow
grasses gone to seed
wearing frayed regalia
drained of summer’s green.

I will stand here steadfast
in sun, sleet, snow
waiting for the someday
life rises from below.


Yesterday my youngest asked me to read what he was working on–a one paragraph discussion of a poem by Emily Dickinson. Back in my office I continued reading chapter 3 of Ted Kooser’s The Poetry Home Repair Manual (which I am enjoying very much!). Kooser describes a poem as a moment at the window in which one sees both a reflection of the writer and the view outside the window. Depending on the light, the reader will see more of the poet or more of the world. I turned the page and there again was Emily Dickinson, his example of a poet looking at her reflection:


It’s all I have to bring today–
This, and my heart beside–
This, and my heart, and all the fields–
And all the meadows wide–
Be sure you count–should I forget
Some one the sum could tell–
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.


I jotted a note to myself to write a poem in which I express my feelings through the landscape. A few minutes later I closed the book and wrote the poem above. Only later did I discover that yesterday was Emily Dickinson’s birthday!


Happy Poetry Friday to you all. Buffy Silverman has the roundup.