National Poetry Month, Poem #15

A Letter from Home

She sends me news of blue jays, frost,

Of stars and now the harvest moon
That rides above the stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With fennel, rosemary and dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and whirling heart; -
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.
I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.
-Mary Oliver
I had to find a picture online of the blue jay. It is rare to see one around my place.

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful poem --- I don't think we have this type of blue jay here on the west coast. I sure miss them! We do have those sometimes pesky, but pretty Steller's jays, though! I think I'll count it as one with the poem as well. Is that okay? I've really been enjoying the poetry you are sharing this national poetry month. Thank you!


I always enjoy reading comments!