July came in with a poem from Grateful Living. A poem I know and love. One I’ve carried in my pocket often for Poem in your Pocket Day. It’s likely one that you know as well, Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye. In my notebook I wrote a riff on the line “You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.”
You Must Know
Sorrow buries itself in the marrow of your bones, zaps your energy so all you can do is stop, rest, breathe slow and steady.
Then you emerge, shedding a former skin to feel Love as the deepest thing, how sorrow lights on a fence post to show you what is true. All a part of you.
Your poem is so hopeful and so true. Of course we go on. Of course we emerge. Of course we are changed. And, of course, all of it is beautiful…in its own way.
Thanks, Mary Lee, for your continued support on my journey through grief. It seems to show up often in the poems I write. I sometimes feel it’s tiresome.
I love the turn…”how sorrow lights on a fence post”… for the hope it inspires — that ability to shed some of it and leave it by the by and by and maybe walk a little lighter when ready. Hugs!
Your opening lines grabbed me hard – I’ve felt that kind of sorrow in my bones. But then you show how love also lives deep inside. You can’t have one without the other.
Margaret, your first three lines hooked me, are powerful, and resonate with me. Love your juxtaposition of the next stanza “you emerge, shedding / a former skin / to feel Love / as the deepest thing,” is equally as affective as your lines in the first stanza. And those last four lines, “how sorrow lands on a fence post / to show you / what is true. / All part of you.” are-wow-powerful, again. Your poem has moved me. It feels therapeutic. Thank you for baring your soul with honesty and so many emotions. Thank you for sharing your inspiration, light, and love.
Would it be all right to add your poem to my notebook with a copyright sign by your name so I can keep reading it, use it to continue to comfort me, and also use as a mentor poem? Maybe you might want to think of sharing your poem to a wider circle by publishing it. Thank you also for the link to Naomi Shihab Nye’s Kindness.
Yes, that is all you can do, Margaret. You’ve shown us how it goes when we are at our saddest. Nye can be a balm to help carry on, too. Thanks for both poems.
Margaret, yours and Nye’s poems are such perfect examples of the healing power of poetry. Yes, here’s to all of it–both the Love and the sorrow, which makes the Love more true and steady.
Margaret, this poem is so strong. It captures how we emerge from grief as a different person. Our experiences throughout life change us. I guess that’s why there’s always hope, even in the darkest times. THank you.
The dragonfly is such a fitting fellow to have gracing your poem, as they, after their multi-year metamorphosis live a very short time, though feel so strong as we look upon them. Thanks for your sensitive poem, I hope some light shines your way Margaret, xox.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 
Your poem is so hopeful and so true. Of course we go on. Of course we emerge. Of course we are changed. And, of course, all of it is beautiful…in its own way.
Thanks, Mary Lee, for your continued support on my journey through grief. It seems to show up often in the poems I write. I sometimes feel it’s tiresome.
I love the turn…”how sorrow lights on a fence post”… for the hope it inspires — that ability to shed some of it and leave it by the by and by and maybe walk a little lighter when ready. Hugs!
Your opening lines grabbed me hard – I’ve felt that kind of sorrow in my bones. But then you show how love also lives deep inside. You can’t have one without the other.
Margaret, there is so much to love about this poem. It feels like it was meant for me.
I am ready to let your words help me “emerge, shedding
a former skin
to feel Love
as the deepest thing.”
Thank you, Margaret for bringing peace into my heart tonight.
Margaret, your first three lines hooked me, are powerful, and resonate with me. Love your juxtaposition of the next stanza “you emerge, shedding / a former skin / to feel Love / as the deepest thing,” is equally as affective as your lines in the first stanza. And those last four lines, “how sorrow lands on a fence post / to show you / what is true. / All part of you.” are-wow-powerful, again. Your poem has moved me. It feels therapeutic. Thank you for baring your soul with honesty and so many emotions. Thank you for sharing your inspiration, light, and love.
Would it be all right to add your poem to my notebook with a copyright sign by your name so I can keep reading it, use it to continue to comfort me, and also use as a mentor poem? Maybe you might want to think of sharing your poem to a wider circle by publishing it. Thank you also for the link to Naomi Shihab Nye’s Kindness.
Thank you for your comment. Of course you can save and use this poem as a mentor. I’d be honored.
Thank you , Margaret.
Yes, that is all you can do, Margaret. You’ve shown us how it goes when we are at our saddest. Nye can be a balm to help carry on, too. Thanks for both poems.
Margaret, yours and Nye’s poems are such perfect examples of the healing power of poetry. Yes, here’s to all of it–both the Love and the sorrow, which makes the Love more true and steady.
Thank you, Margaret, for such a personal and poignant poem. Beautiful. I am partial to that light on the fencepost, too.
Margaret, this poem is so strong. It captures how we emerge from grief as a different person. Our experiences throughout life change us. I guess that’s why there’s always hope, even in the darkest times. THank you.
Oh, Margaret, this is so beautiful and true.
This left me in tears:
Then you emerge, shedding
a former skin
to feel Love
as the deepest thing,
how sorrow lights on a fence post
to show you
what is true.
It’s been almost four months since my mother passed away — haven’t emerged yet, of course, but Love, yes, is the deepest thing.
Prayers for your continued grieving process. I’ve come to realize the deepest grief comes from the deepest love.
The dragonfly is such a fitting fellow to have gracing your poem, as they, after their multi-year metamorphosis live a very short time, though feel so strong as we look upon them. Thanks for your sensitive poem, I hope some light shines your way Margaret, xox.