A Poem Inside

I sent something I had written to a woman I had listened to at a women’s social.
The woman was so interesting as she spoke.
She is a professor and a writer.
She sent me an email in response to my writing.

She was so encouraging in her response.
The piece I sent her blessed her heart.
One thing she said to me still lingers years later.
You are a poet, she said.

I have pondered her words ever since she wrote them to me.
I had written poetry.
I used to write poems as a gift to the women in my Bible study years ago.
I even have a book of my poems that was published a while back.

However, I have not written much poetry lately.
I thought about the one day I decided to write a poem.
The poem never came.
You cannot force a poem out of hiding.

It was beginning to bother me that poems were not flowing out of me as quickly as before.
I write every day.
I always have stories to tell.
Poems were just not there; I was beginning to think I was unable to write poems anymore.

A dear friend stayed after Bible study here in my home.
We had lunch together and talked for a few hours.
I shared my concern with her; that I seemed unable to write poetry anymore.
I told her about the comment the woman made all those years ago.

You are a poet; I told her the words the woman wrote to me in her email.
I don’t feel like a poet, I admitted.
I think you’re thinking about it all wrong, my friend said.
Being a poet is more than rhyming words, my friend explained.

Being a poet is another way of seeing things.
Being a poet is being aware, she concluded.
There it was.
Her words floated in the air like a gossamer thread.

Being a poet is another way of seeing things.
Being a poet is being aware.
Somehow the anvil that had been on my shoulders began to lift.
There was a lightness as her words floated right to my heart.

When I went to the creativity conference back in October, I met a wonderful couple.
They both write poetry and had a few poetry sessions at the conference.
What was so lovely about the sessions was that you could share a poem.
It could be a favorite poem or a poem you wrote.

I chose to read two poems that I had written.
Something came alive again.
Hearing the words that I had written being read from my lips was a turning point for me.
All of us in that session encouraged each other, which was exactly what many of us needed.

After returning home, this same couple began a poetry group.
Those of us who are a part of the group share poetry with each other.
It is a safe place; it is an encouraging place, though we are scattered around the country.
It is a place where iron sharpens iron.

There is often a poetry prompt for each of us.
It is a topic designed to spur you on so that the ideas will flow.
I am often a spectator, enjoying what I read.
Between teaching Bible study and writing each day, there did not seem to be a lot of time.

You are a poet.
Being a poet is another way of seeing things.
Being a poet is being aware.
All of those words washed over me.

Then a prompt came in the poetry group.
For this week, write an encounter poem.
I read one poem that someone had already submitted.
It was wonderful, about taking a seat on a plane next to a stranger.

As I sat in my chair, with my cup of tea, it came.
A poem came.
There was not a rhyming word in sight.
It was another way of seeing things, it was simply being aware.

On my phone, at that very instant, I wrote a poem.
I hit send.
It was published in the poetry group just like that.
Now my words were floating in the air for someone else to read.

She looks in the mirror and sees a face she doesn’t recognize.
Is the girl who played Double Dutch with such skill still there?
She looks at the face that returns her gaze.
Is it you?
The twinkle in the eyes that look back at her give it away.
It is you!
Every line around her eyes tells a story.
Every crevice near her mouth gives away years of laughter.
Hello, friend! They both say together.
They touch hands through the glass.

I read it to my husband later that afternoon, which is something I never do.
He just smiled.
The poem was out there.
The person I encountered was me.

I do see things differently.
I intentionally go about my days listening and being aware.
I just never knew that was poetry.
Relief and a sense of calm came over me.

But for Adam no suitable helper was found. So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.

The man said,

That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh. (Genesis 2:20-24)

Then I remembered.
When God brought Eve to Adam, Adam responded with poetry.
Adam was so overcome with Eve’s beauty, what else could he do?
The poem seemed to erupt from Adam when he saw Eve, the gift that God had given him.

Poetry is a response to the world around us.
It is a call to be aware.
It is a call to see things differently.
The poem in you is closer than you think.

 

2 responses to “A Poem Inside”

1. I love your poem. It resonates with me. Thank you.

   Reply

   • I am glad, Jean!
     Kindred spirits, you and I.
     Gina

     Reply