Rarely do I become moved by poetry. In fact, much of the time I just don't seem to understand it. Saturday Writers hosted a delightful speaker by the name of Anene Tressler-Hauschultz in March. She spoke of her use of poetry as a writing tool and read us the following poem. To speak lightly of the matter, I was moved.
I've used the poem several times since hearing it read, and it only seems fitting to share it here as well.
After Years
Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.
Ted Kooser
