April Poetry: Nancy Reas

In recognition of Poetry Month, and to celebrate and highlight our treasure trove of Orcas Island poets, Orcas Issues is pleased and honored to again offer daily poetry during April.

A Poem Is Not

by Nancy Reas —

A poem is not
A bird or a tree
A flower
Or a person

A poem is the way a nuthatch
Swoops from fir to alder stopping briefly
Making sure the coast is clear
To nab a sunflower seed for its lunch

It’s the way a woman bends down
Touching a rose lightly
Burrowing her face in its yellow crown
To inhale its blessing

A poem is not
The rain or wind
A house
Or a chair

It can be the synchronicity of all four
Forcing the destruction
Of a community with mud and tears
Yet saving one man as he sits
Drinking coffee with his wife

One can see a poem
In the way a twelve-year old boy defends
His sister bound to a wheelchair
Telling the world she’s just like the rest of them

A poem is not a solitary word
With nothing connecting it to you,
Me, or another human being
A poem is a ticket we use
To travel together

Comfort

— by Nancy Reas —
(after Mary Oliver)

Welcome to the silly, comforting poem
It will be chocolate, of course.
Not syrup or candy kisses
but the warm, dense,
stick to the roof of your mouth chocolate
of brownies fresh from the oven.
It will never fail to take the sting out
whatever bothers you,
if only momentarily.

The poem will envelop you like your mother’s
pink, chenille robe,
the one she let you wear
when you were sick
and had to stay home from school.

The heat of the poem will permeate your skin
like the flames of a campfire in the woods
or the open fireplace in your house
when the wind is howling outside.

You can snuggle in the poem’s strong arms,
sigh as you lean back, close your eyes
secure in its love.

Maybe the poem is not so silly after all.

Thank you, Laurel Rust

— by Nancy Reas —

“Outside, the cold
grey and drizzle
is like a room no one
has gone into for years.”

Sometimes
reading a poem
is like gazing
on a nearby mountain,
pale lavender in
April morning light
or standing by an
autumn lagoon,
one single golden maple
perfectly reflected amid
a chorus of evergreens.

All I can do is inhale deeply
and slowly exhale my joy
at being alive.