Tonight I’ve been thinking about the impact we allow others to have on our lives, the way their inaccessibility, or ignorance, or indifference fuels our need for them. How the way they ignore us validates all the negative feelings of self-worth we already own and somehow makes them marvelous in our eyes. How just the smallest crumb of attention, the merest hint of love, can sustain us for years. This line of thinking put me in mind of one of my favorite poems, by one of my favorite poets, Sharon Olds. I wasn’t quite sure I still had it, but of course because I am who I am, I found The Gold Cell in my bookcase. Although I moved here with only two suitcases constituting the only things I still owned in the world, this surely proves there is always room in my life to squeeze in a bit of confessional poetry.
Little Things
by Sharon Olds
After she’s gone to camp, in the early
evening I clear our girl’s breakfast dishes
from the rosewood table, and find a small
crystallized pool of maple syrup, the
grains standing there, round, in the night, I
rub it with my fingertip
as if I could read it, this raised dot of
amber sugar, and this time
when I think of my father, I wonder why
I think of my father, of the beautiful blood-red
glass in his hand, or his black hair gleaming like a
broken-open coal. I think I learned to
love the little things about him
because of all the big things
I could not love, no one could, it would be wrong to.
So when I fix on this tiny image of resin
or sweep together with the heel of my hand a
pile of my son’s sunburn peels like
insect wings, where I peeled his back the night before camp,
I am doing something I learned early to do, I am
paying attention to small beauties,
whatever I have—as if it were our duty to
find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.
Tonight I’ve been thinking about the impact we allow others to have on our lives, the way their inaccessibility, or ignorance, or indifference fuels our need for them.
You know, someone once said to me “The amount you hurt when someone ignores you is directly relational to the amount you wish they cared for you.” So true.
By: mexpat on March 18, 2008
at 8:24 am
beautiful. you have such a way with words.. old news, i realize, but thought i’d point it out again
By: charity on March 18, 2008
at 10:03 am
Heather, thanks for sharing the poem. It is lovely.
By: marissa on March 18, 2008
at 11:24 am
Wow. Very insightful. And slightly painful.
By: charmarie221 on March 18, 2008
at 12:08 pm
mexpat, that sounds like a truism to me, and makes me a little sad. BTW, I’ve wanted to comment on your blog several times, but don’t have a google/blogger account. Any chance you’ll consider altering your settings for comments?
Charity, thank you. What a kind thing to say, especially today when I’m feeling a little blue.
Marissa, my pleasure. Many people don’t care for poetry, but that never stops me from inflicting it on them at every opportunity.
Char, she’s a great poet, you’re right. She can be painful.
By: heatherinparadise on March 18, 2008
at 12:53 pm
Atually I meant your part.
By: charmarie221 on March 18, 2008
at 3:03 pm
do you ever get tired of me response always being just
I love you
I hope not. Its not for lack of words to say. Its just I read your words and am reminded of how I miss you. How I wish we could be part of everyday life other than in myspace or yourspace.
I love your poems. Especially the ones you write. You are awesome.
By: Amy on March 18, 2008
at 3:17 pm
“How the way they ignore us validates all the negative feelings of self-worth we already own and somehow makes them marvelous in our eyes.”
This forced a lump into my throat that I couldn’t decide if I should swallow or release. I question why I would allow someone to make me feel this way. But then I realized that I’m the one in control of how I feel. The release felt good for once.
By: Vanessa on March 18, 2008
at 6:39 pm
The true curse of being a man is that we want to fix everything. When my favorite chick is so obviously hurting, I want to run to you and fix it all. You just need to be heard. I hear you. In my perfect world you would shit rainbows and ride a unicorn to work everyday and never EVER question your validity or worth. I think perfection requires a slightly larger hammer.
By: Jerry on March 18, 2008
at 11:25 pm
This piece leaves me speechless. Yikes. If you write it, they will read. xxx,ooo
By: rasa on March 20, 2008
at 5:48 am
Hi Heather-
I’m switching over to WordPress as soon as i get a break with work (probably in a couple weeks). You’re not the first to say that about Blogger, besides, WordPress is a superior blogging apparatus. LOL.
By: mexpat on March 21, 2008
at 12:48 pm
Durh… in the meantime I opened up the commenting. I think Blogger puts it as the default that you have to have an account with them. Tricky little buggers.
By: mexpat on March 21, 2008
at 1:02 pm
Heather, Wow, ouch, beautiful. This hug’s for you (((Heather)))
Thanks, for your well wishes too, I’m so glad I’m not in a cast! Might be a bit warmer with this norte though
Can’t wait to meet you in April!
Mi
By: Mimi on March 25, 2008
at 11:00 pm