Wordle

One of my favorite poems is "Valentine for Ernest Mann" by Naomi Shihab Nye, a poet I've been privileged to meet and host at two different schools. I just read this poem to students on Friday, and every time I read it I think of hearing Naomi read it. It's a beautiful poem that suggests poetry makes the things of the world beautiful when we notice those things, even skunks.

(To hear Naomi read other poems, go here.)

Because I commute more than 100 miles each workday, I see a number of animal corpses along the freeway and highways. I often see skunks and, despite their foul odor, I can't help thinking of them as lovely and soft and innocent animals.

I met a skunk once, when one of my aunts and her then-husband came to visit. I must have been quite young, as I remember looking up from the driveway into the car window and seeing the skunk slung across my aunt's shoulder like a miniature living shawl. It was so warm and so silky that I have fantasized ever since about having one of my own.

Instead, I have this poem, which I just Wordled (http://wordle.net):

Valentine for Ernest Mann
by Naomi Shihab Nye

You can't order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, "I'll take two"
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, "Here's my address,
write me a poem," deserves something in reply.
So I'll tell you a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn't understand why she was crying.
"I thought they had such beautiful eyes."
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at this feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know.

Spend some time today looking for the poem waiting for you and make it beautiful.