Poetry, the right poetry, is like a cold glass of milk– refreshing and familiar, even if you haven’t had that *exact* one yet.
Jay and I are both stressed by our current house project, and yesterday he asked me to pick up some more chocolate for him while I was grocery shopping. He’s been though quite a bit already during this project.
I got him a big bag of mini-bars.
Today, as soon as the boy was down and Jay was reading to the girls, I left the house and returned to our closing bookstore. 25%-off sometimes beats the Amazon prices, and the times it doesn’t, the instant gratification of a fresh book in-hand is worth the extra $2.
I came home with Snow for Natasha’s Birthday, Inkspell, and Poem a Day. This last was the thing I didn’t know I would buy before I went. I was just browsing, enjoying my hour to myself, and came across this title. I didn’t even look at it much before I wanted to bring it home. The experience was very like how I felt on the way home from New Mexico, 3 years ago, when I bought Good Poems in an airport’s bookstore.
When I was showing/explaining the purchases to Jay, I said, “Gift, sequel, *my* chocolate.”
That instant was the first connection I made between our coping mechanisms. “Come to think of it…” I was feeling pretty crummy in that airport too– with a tired 1-year-old, and me being pregnant, tired, and annoyed with somebody– and the book of the hour was one of poems.
They’re such a fresh breath for a word-lover like me; something I can enjoy without the pressure of needing to internalize anything.
Bible-reading always has value, and I’ve begun a point of habit to do my daily reading before reading other things, and the right novels or Christian-thinking/living books are also absorbing. But as a whole the human-penned books require engagement to be beneficial. (I’d dare say Bible reading is beneficial on any level)
Poetry just *is;* words painting pictures, creating feelings. No epic story to follow or new resolution to pray through with a tired mind.
So here is one to read and enjoy before this tired mind goes to bed:
New Every Morning
Every day is a fresh beginning,
Listen my soul to the glad refrain.
And, spite of old sorrows
And older sinning,
And possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.
(29 January 1835 – 9 April 1905)