Poem for mourning

I cut this out of the paper a few weeks ago, and thought of sending it to a woman who recently lost her husband. She had recited a poem at his funeral, a mournful poem that he gave her to hold onto until he died. He had no idea she would have need of it so soon.

I still haven't mailed it, though. Instead, I'll post it here and send warm, healing thoughts her way...

Spare Parts

We barge out of the womb
with two of them: eyes, ears,

arms, hands, legs, feet.
Only one heart. Not a good

plan. God should know we
need at least a dozen,

a baker's dozen of hearts.
They break like Easter eggs

hidden in the grass,
stepped on and smashed.

My own heart is patched,
bandaged, taped, barely

the same shape it once was
when it beat fast for you.

- Trish Dugger

Guerrilla Poetry

I smiled at an older gentleman at the Harris Teeter on New Garden yesterday. (Other than when in truly dire moods, I try to smile at strangers - these days, it's damn near an act of rebellion.) He took my smile as an invitation and offered me a poem.

It's, obviously, an unusual offer and I honestly wasn't sure if he was going to recite one to me, or if the guy was a little loopy... I do have a string of quasi-homeless, slightly (sometimes very) wacky older man friends in my past - it seems that I'm like catnip to them... probably because I smile.

Anyway, the man handed me a short poem printed on a small piece of card stock, then fished out two more. "My wife prints these out for me so I can give them to people," he said. Apparently, he also writes songs and sings them acapella, then burns them onto disks to give to people, but he was out yesterday and hoped that we would run into one another again so he could share one of those.

And then we parted ways. We didn't even shake hands or introduce ourselves.

The poems could have been total crap - it wouldn't have changed the fact that the interaction made the day seem somehow magical. I love moments like that, stumbling across a lovely stranger who offers an unsolicited bit of kindness. Shortly before, a friend told me that she had been given a cup of coffee by a random stranger at a Starbucks, which had likewise made her day.

And I love that this man would share something as intimate as a poem with strangers. I can imagine that many people are put off by the whole thing and refuse the poem, but I hope that much more often, they not only accept the slip of paper but do so graciously and really take a moment to read his words.

But the poems, while perhaps not making this man contender for poet laureate of NC, are lovely and positive. My favorite of the three:

A Letter to my Life

Dear Life,

Be kind and comforting
when I mourn
Be happy and vibrant
when I celebrate
Be patient while
I choose my path

Be forgiving and
understanding
when I make mistakes
Be aware and supporting
when I choose wisely
Carry me softly on
your gentle breath so
I land upright and honest

True to myself and others
and to the memory of my ancestors

- Harry Nagel