september 5, a moment tucked in bed with the words of sharon olds.
to read the words of sharon olds in her collection of poetry in the book "the gold cell" is to repeatedly breathe in the knowledge that my story, although it is my story, is a story, a song, a path that is known by others.
feelings long pushed deeply into a little pocket inside me burst out of me each time i visit with this poet.
but i come back often because i am face to face with the knowledge that to examine the bits in the internal pocket is to examine the quietest, most truthful pieces of me. it is a raw, breath-catching experience that somehow makes me feel more whole instead of sad.
the gift of poetry.
(tonight's experience was with the poem "late poem to my father," which you can find here if you scroll down a bit)