one of my favorites

When I Am Asked

When I am asked

how I began writing poems,

I talk about the indifference of nature.

It was soon after my mother died,

a brilliant June day,

everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench

in a lovingly planted garden,

but the day lilies were as deaf

as the ears of drunken sleepers

and the roses curved inward.

Nothing was black or broken

and not a leaf fell

and the sun blared endless commercials

for summer holidays.

I sat on a gray stone bench

ringed with the ingenue faces

of pink and white impatiens

and placed my grief

in the mouth of language,

the only thing that would grieve with me.

- Lisel Mueller

This is one of those poems that never fails to inspire me. We all have a reason for why we begin to write poetry. For some of us it is a loss, so vast that we can't bear it.

For some of us it is our first love. And we feel giddy and speechless and afraid. Afraid that it will end and we will be the way we were before love struck. Fear is a huge motivator.

Others of us feel misunderstood. Poetry is such a cure for those who are misunderstood.

Whatever the reason, poetry heals, almost anything. It grieves with us.