Prayer of Tears
The poet Mary Oliver writes:
Poems arrive ready to begin.
Poets are only the transportation.
I am transported.
It was some years ago that my friend and I were enjoying a casual summer weekend at his pool. As we watched our young children play, we stood and talked in the pool’s shallow end. I casually mentioned a story about his father and a memory I recalled. His dad had wired the house with some sort of intercoms of his own creation–long before cellphones and Walkie-Talkies.
I still remember that moment. I still recall looking into my friend’s face....
Poems arrive ready to begin.
Poets are only the transportation.
I am transported.
It was some years ago that my friend and I were enjoying a casual summer weekend at his pool. As we watched our young children play, we stood and talked in the pool’s shallow end. I casually mentioned a story about his father and a memory I recalled. His dad had wired the house with some sort of intercoms of his own creation–long before cellphones and Walkie-Talkies.
I still remember that moment. I still recall looking into my friend’s face....