First, I’d like to talk about the poem “Believing Green.” I loved that poem. Like Alex mentioned, Kyle, he and I all read each other the Wiman poems aloud. I read this one. It was beautiful (not because of the merit of my reading, but of its own accord). I didn’t understand, and I reread,reread,reread, but not because I wanted to understand it. I just keep reading because it sounded so beautiful, because it transported me, and that does not often happen when I read poems. At first, it was just the sounds, the alliteration, the language that flew me away, and later it was the visual scene of that eccentric house. I won’t presume to interpret the poems meaning, because I’d rather leave it as it is in its strange beauty. It makes me long for an old grandma with cats, with a life’s worth of experience that somehow brings together knowledge of cooking, animals, lawn decorations, and the growing of grass. It gives me cravings for those cryptic words of wisdom, those people that you look at and wonder, “Where the hell did this person come from, and how did we even become friends?” I feel a glimpse of the “nuances of neverness” after experiencing this poem, and a longing for more.
Second, although I have long aspired to become a permanent cat lady living alone in a cool house, Valentine’s Day kinda stings. Like, if you don’t hate it because you’re single, you hate it for its commercialism and shallow creativity in selling boxes of chocolates that all look the same and usually taste like shit. I’d rather receive a nice set of pens or a nice avocado, honestly. However, my most cherished Valentine is a poem. Poems don’t poison my body with sugar, nor do they end up in a Goodwill box within months (like the stuffed animals holding hearts). They remain, and if they’re good, they remain true. I really appreciated the exercise we did in class, and I’m excited to give my friend a poem tomorrow. Another thing I do every year (since last year), is make paper valentines for the homeless neighbors that come for Room In The Inn. Last year, I figured, they probably don’t usually get valentines. I made some, and the reactions I received were affirming.
I bet there are a lot of people who spend Valentine’s Day without receiving any gesture of love or kindness. Maybe the woman in “Believing Green” spent it alone, mourning a lost loved one or the lack thereof in the first place. Look for someone you can reach out to; give them a poem, or a heart cut out of construction paper, or a flower. Tell them they matter. I think it can really lift someone’s spirits.