Friday, February 25, 2011

Poetry Friday: The Speaker

In general, I don't have much of a grasp of anything.

I do know my husband's shoe size. I know that his eyes are a deep chocolate brown, but that's a woman-thing. I know the name of my district representative, but I don't like to think about it. I do forget where I parked. And where I left my glasses (and I'm so blind without them that looking for glasses while not wearing glasses is its own comedy of errors.) I can't remember most of my childhood. I always forget that I'm stranded at home when one of our vehicles is in the shop. And although I am firmly Catholic, and deeply in love with God, I am often confused.

What I do know is this: I love poets. I love their words and the way their brains work. I savor the way they make me nod and sigh and then, at the end, laugh because, yes, that's me they've just conjured, and how did they know? 

The Speaker
by Louis Jenkins

The speaker points out that we don't really have
much of a grasp of things, not only the big things,
the important questions, but the small everyday
things. "How many steps up to your back yard? What
is the name of your district representative? What
did you have for breakfast? What is your wife's
shoe size? Can you tell me the color of your
sweetheart's eyes? Do you remember where you
parked the car?" The evidence is overwhelming.

(Read the rest of the poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)


Sara Lewis Holmes has the round up today at Read, Write, Believe.


jama said...

Great poem, SO true. I can brag that I do know my husband's shoe size, because I'm the one who buys his shoes. But not much else, I'm afraid . . . :)

Sara said...

"What's the population of this place?" That's a question we get asked a lot, by visitors, right after we've moved somewhere new, and I can never for the life of me give even a halfway decent answer.

I don't often lose my car, but I have taken to snapping a picture of the parking lot row number if I'm leaving it at the airport for any length of time.

I do know that my husband wears shoes... :)

tanita davis said...

We drift
through life in daydream, missing the true
richness and joy that life has to offer.

That's the most true statement of all.

Tabatha said...

Nice ending!

Reminds me of something my children and I have discussed -- that you can put anything on the ceiling (or hide it there) because people never look up.

Carlie said...

So true. That is me. Now I'll be awake all night wondering how many steps there are in the back.

Mary Lee said...

Sometimes, it's good just to embrace the drift...