Today is the first day of September and it comes with a full Blue Moon and slightly cooler temperatures pointing the way to fall. Ah, me! I breathe in deeply and sigh.
August has been a dark month for me, and I am just beginning to emerge from the cocoon of illness. When I asked the Inklings to study and use the tool of enjambment in a poem, I had no idea how my whole life would be enjambed. My hysterectomy in June had the worst possible complication, an opened and infected incision. I had a second surgery on Friday, August 18th. I was in the hospital for 5 days and in bed at home for 10 days following. As I begin to feel better and the cloud is lifting, I am cautiously optimistic that I am healing.
For the enjambment challenge, I offered my friends a model poem from former Louisiana poet laureate Jack Bedell.
Ghost Forest
—Manchac, after Frank Relle’s photograph, “Alhambra”1.
Backlit by city and refinery’s glow
these cypress bones shimmeron the still lake’s surface.
It’s easy to see a storm’scoming with the sky rolling
gray overhead and the waterglass-calm. Even easier to know
these trees have weatheredsome rough winds, their branches
here and there, pointing thisa-way and that at what
we’ve done to this place.Read the rest here.
Jack Bedell
One early morning this week, I sat outside (at the urging of a close friend) and watched the bayou. This small draft of a poem came to me. I offer it here because it’s the only thing I have and doing this makes me feel normal again. Thanks to all of you who have expressed concern and sent cards and messages.
Is it
the play of light
on the surface
or air bubbles moving
over glass-calmwater I watch
Margaret Simon, draft
still, quiet bayou
breathe, like me,
slow and deliberate
taking in life-
giving oxygen.
We are trying to survive,
bayou and I,
trying to make this day
meaningful
all the while knowing
breath is all
that matters.
To see how other Inklings used enjambment, check out their posts.
Heidi Mordhorst @ My Juicy Little Universe
Linda Mitchell @ A Word Edgewise
Catherine Flynn @ Reading to the Core
Mary Lee Hahn @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Molly Hogan @ Nix the Comfort Zone
Reflections on the Teche 
Ah Margaret what a gorgeous and soothing poem you’ve created—I hope that short spell you took sitting by the quiet waters of your welcoming bayou continues to fill you with healing thoughts and acts as an elixir coaxing your body to follow. So sorry to hear of your second surgery, sending many more healing thoughts, prayers, and love your way.
Thanks, Michelle. The bayou is soothing and full of stillness and life. A great white egret visits daily.
Finding your way into breath from the bayou feels good, Margaret. It’s a lovely self-support poem. I am sorry for all the added challenges, and here at school’s beginning. (I bet your students miss you so much!) The poem by Jack Bedell is also wonderful. I love “moss as memory”. Wishing you the best of days to come!
Thanks, Linda. This has been the hardest challenge of my life. I am hopeful the other side will have many moments of joy. I will be looking at them more intently now.
It’s like a message, isn’t it, a “wake up & take care”. I’m happy you’re on the other end of being well!
Margaret, I’m so sorry to hear of your challenges. Glad to hear you are on the mend and please know that good thoughts and prayers are coming your way for continued recovery. Your poem evokes the quiet tranquility of the bayou and how much it means to you.
Hugs!
Rose, thanks you for your prayers. I’m a little stronger and more myself each day. And always find comfort in nature.
A beautiful poem for your enjambment challenge, with great advice: Breathe. Sorry to hear of your health issues, and I pray for your return to robust health soon!
Thanks for your thoughts. Baby steps.
Margaret, I am glad your health is improving. What a series of challenges that you have faced. It is amazing that you are able to see and create beauty all the while. Best wishes for a quick recovery.
I feel beauty is always there, even in the darkness.
Margaret, YES, here’s to healing fully from this summer adventure you didn’t choose. I love how you and the teche are in this together.
“over glass-calm
water I watch
still,”
Beautiful!
Thanks for your support and encouragement. I am surrounded by wonderful friends near and far.
Oh, friend it is good to see your words. I’m struck by the fragile nature of the bayou that you, the speaker, are in tune with as simply breath is the only thing that matters. Still thinking of you with healing thoughts. I hope you can heal quickly but take time to get back up to full speed. You didn’t really have a summer.
Our bayou is low with such little rain and it’s a weird color of green. Climate change, like body change, is real and tough.
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I am so sorry to hear about all you have been through. It’s good to know you are on the mend. Your poem is so heartfelt and lovely. Thank you for sharing it here.
Thanks for reading. I feel poetry gives us a way to process deep grief in a safe way that is universal and hopeful.
Oh, Margaret! How did I miss all your suffering last month? I am so sorry to hear about your infected incision and the dark places that you’ve been in before starting to heal. A virtual hug for you. I truly hope you are doing better. You know nature and time spent there is hopeful and healing. I thank your friend who suggested you sit and watch the bayou. I love your draft. I wish you well. Truly. Be well.
Thanks for your sincere concern. It’s been a dark month. I am trying to gain strength in my body before I allow myself to process the trauma. I am getting help.
I’m so thankful that your friend, who clearly knows you well, suggested that you get outside. What wise advice! Your poem is beautiful and also poignant. That final stanza really grabbed me. I’m so glad that you’re on the road to recovery and as Linda said, hope you take the time you need to fully heal.
The temperatures temporarily dropped for a few days and it was actually comfortable to sit and watch. When the poem came, it felt like a true gift for healing. I accepted it with love.
Over the years I have enjoyed so many scenes from your bayou. I am glad it offers comfort and inspiration when you need it. Hope every day continues to bring more healing.
Watching the bayou always gives me comfort and peace. I’m happy I can share that in words and photos.
Margaret, although the body heals, it sometimes takes the mind a little longer when there have been complications. Be kind to yourself.
Breath is all that matters in traumatic times.
I’ve been told by my general doctor to watch for signs of depression. It is a real chemical reaction that occurs after trauma. I’m glad he told me that so I am prepared. Being kind to myself is a mantra for me these days. No pushing this.
It’s interesting, because I found your second stanza of this so much easier/restful to read. And that’s probably a lesson in enjambment, right there; it disrupts the flow and has you teetering on different/potential meanings. You think?
I do hope you’re feeling much better soon, Margaret. But by the same token, I don’t want to rush you. Breathe in the stillness and gently let your body heal. Take care. x
That last stanza is a kind of resolve I’ve had to give myself. I’ve always been so active, doing something every day, and as my body heals, there is a lot of not doing, just being. I have to find peace in the not doing. Thanks for your thoughts, always.
Mmmmm–your last stanza gives me resolve too, for healing that has little to do with my long-ago hysterectomy complications. All that lying still has been frustrating, I’m sure, but thanks for sharing the wisdom you’ve received, which comes in incomplete waves and bubbles. Glad to know that you’re emerging once again.
As you know emerging cannot be rushed. I’m taking the time my body needs. Thanks for your support.
Margaret, I can feel the healing flowing from your time with the bayou. Your friend gave you good advice! Take it slow; breathe deep.
Margaret, prayers continue for your healing. Life is difficult to bear when illness strikes but that does not stop you from beautiful words flowing from the bayou glass-calm waters into your soul. As my yoga teacher says, let your breath go to body parts that need soothing. Let it flow and cover you with sun-setting rays that bring you a sense of tranquility. Your poem is filled with slow-moving thoughtful words that reach inside and flow outwards. May peace be yours.
Thank you Carol for these thoughts and for your sweet card. I feel loved.
This poem breathes.
I’m glad you have the bayou, and that it has you, its voice.
And thank all the goodness in the world that you are getting better, beginning to heal.
Mary Lee, Yoyr comment to Margaret has shown up on my page. I don’t know why but thought I’d let you know.
Margaret, I’m so sorry you’ve had complications with surgery + additional surgery. That’s just awful. I hope you are getting the rest you need. That photo is just gorgeous. “Glass-calm” was my favorite phrase in both poems.
Marcie, I just want your comment to Margaret showed up on my blog. It’s the second one I’ve had today like that.
Oh that’s odd. I’m on Margaret’s page and it’s showing up here. I also left a comment on your blog. Sorry about that.
I got your comment – thanks. I just don’t want Margaret to miss her comments of support. Thanks for checking.
Love this! “breathe, like me, / slow and deliberate / taking in life” Sending healing thoughts your way, Margaret!
Oh, Margaret, I’m sorry you have been through such a traumatic time. Thank goodness for your friend who knows you so well and helped you find moments of calm when these lovely words came to you.
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