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I'm a Minnesota Girl, living in the south. I tell my friends I try not to talk and think like a Yankee, but sometimes I slip up!

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Some of the most heartfelt poems of the new century





Are those that deal with the grief after 9/11. I've read a lot of tribute poetry, commemorating the day.




I like the poems that are subtle...the ones that talk about how you feel in the aftermath, how the world has changed. Here's one of my favorites:






Normally



I have no politics to speak of,


but last week I bought a paperback version


of American History for Beginners.


At breakfast, I turned to the plume


of Hiroshima while munching


on the dark side of toast.


I was reminded of the beauty


of gesture--the “duck and cover” we learned


in grade school and how we crouched


under our desks from the Cold War.




I never talk to strangers.


But on Cobb Lane,


I smiled at a woman walking a collie


and wanted to hug her dog.


I’m not religious,


but for the first time in years,


I go to church, chant the Nicene Creed, hunger


for something clean--wings, say.


Usually I wake at 6, brew coffee,


pack my knapsack, pull the door to,


and walk six-tenths of a mile to the train.




Today I slept late, dreaming


of flying in a small plane in a wobbly sky.


At the station, passengers loaded with hearts


come aboard, checking their watches.


Normally I don’t describe them.


Today I can’t help noticing the upright


bodies, the feet angled in as if to stay,


the tickettaker who hitches up his pants


and waits. Usually I look out the window,


or read the Times. Today I notice how


a little boy’s hair shines in the sun


and have the urge to feel his warmth


through my palm. I wonder about the synapses


that fire beneath the scalpor our forward facing feet


when all we want is to go back.




Normally, I write about what I feel.


Now my biggest fear is failed


poems--the kind that take you


just short of understanding


and leave you there--your


hope thin, combustible


as the white flesh of cigarettes.




~Elizabeth Harrington

3 comments:

Pam said...

Wow! There was a lump in my throat before I was half-way thorugh the poem.

It was wonderful!

Kelly said...

This is really good. Had to go back and read it several times again....

Marion said...

This is an amazing poem. I loved the line:

"I go to church, chant the Nicene Creed, hunger for something clean--wings, say."

Thank you for sharing it!!! Hugs from cloudy Louisiana today....