Tag Archives: Clint Smith

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Something You Should Know

People often wonder how my husband and I ever got together. How we ever lasted over 35 years. Sometimes, it’s a mystery to me as well, but I’m always thankful. He is a man who defies description, but describes himself as a “hippie, red-neck philosopher.” He would be the first to admit that he has some rough edges, but he is a man to admire–someone who works hard at being his best self. He makes me a better person, too. He turned 60 recently and I wrote this poem for him.

Something you should know
(After Clint Smith)

is that I find your hands beautiful.

I know you’ll laugh when you read this,
hold up your knobby hands,
rippled with callouses and scars
of unknown origins,
thick-fingered with nails bitten
into deformity
These hands? you’ll ask.

Yes, those hands,
your hands
I find them beautiful.
Achingly so.
How they cradled our children
How they dance across my skin
How I know they will be there
when I reach out with mine.

And how those quick-bitten nails
record the unceasing effort,
the struggle you put
into living your best life
every single day.

Heroism at its most fundamental.

Beautiful.

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tabatha at her blog, The Opposite of Indifference.

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Sustenance

Spring in Maine has been oh-so-beautiful this year and I’ve been soaking it all in. It struck me this morning that I’m living in a sort of emerald “snow” globe. Up on our hilltop, our house is surrounded by shades of green in all directions, and every so often, blossoms flutter down instead of snowflakes. A crescendo of bird song wakes me every morning. It’s pretty awesome!

Poet, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, shares a poem every day. In the initial part of one recent poem, “Rapture“, she describes stopping to listen after hearing a bird call, and speculates on the power of that listening. The final lines to the poem are:

“…tuning with wonder, thrill lacing
our spellbound silence as we slip
through the narrow gate of amazement
and more wholly into the world.”

I can so relate to that moment of intense awareness and to slipping through that “narrow gate of amazement.” I’ve been thinking a lot about how to find joy in the stress of this mixed-up world, and in the midst of missing those who are no longer with me. I’m so grateful for the the natural beauty that surrounds me and for the consistent entry to wonder that it offers. Such moments sustain me.

Sustenance
after Clint Smith

Today I will
write a poem
about being happy.
It will not be about feeling overwhelmed
by a friend’s recent diagnosis
or by yet another bombing, distress, or disappointment.
It will not splash into a pool of angst
or seek synonyms for sorrow.
But rather it will be about
a soaring hawk, wings glowing impossibly white
against blue skies.
But rather the joy of a sun-speckled path
through river-side woods and time to linger.
But rather how all these things are present
and sometimes they rise
like cream to the surface,
rich, delicious
worthy of savoring.
And how there’s always time later
to linger with grief
and world-weary worries.
But rather, today, I’ll drink deep
and write a poem
about being happy.

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Janice Scully at her blog, Salt City Verse.