Poetry Friday: Slowing Down

Recently, I found a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye in her new and brilliant book, Honeybee: Poems & Short Prose.  The poem is called "To One Now Grown" and it's gorgeous.  It begins:

"If we could start over, I would let you get dirtier./ Place your face in the food, it's okay."

And it concludes:

"Give me the box of time./ Let's make it bigger./ It's all yours." 

The poem is a reminder to slow down, to savor the small moments, to breathe.  Oh!  This is something I try to do.  All the time.  But it's not something I always accomplish. 

This week, for example, my son was sick.  He spent lots of time crying and clinging and being generally a little bit miserable.  And who could blame him -- he could barely swallow!  Most of the time I was good, patient.  I gave him tube after tube of squeezable yogurt and we sat together watching hours of Sesame Street (one episode in particular -- the one where Elmo becomes a bookaneer) and we looked at animal pictures in animal books and we finger-painted.  But there were also too many moments when I was terribly grouchy and eager to get out of the house, get fresh air, be by myself. 

And then... and then I come back to this poem and remember one thing: one day he will be sick, he'll have a cold or strep throat, and will not want me to hold him for hours, will not want my company and I will not be able to comfort him simply by being in his line of sight.  It is the power of a poem, of 16 short lines, that brings me back to reality, that helps me remember to breathe, that teaches me -- each time I forget the lesson -- that time is precious and goes by without any way to slow it down. 

For Mother's Day this year I would like to frame this poem, or at least copy it down and keep it in a place that I can see it whenever I need it. 

The remarkable thing is this: "To One Now Grown" is about being a mother, but it's a poem for everyone because the idea of time slipping by too quickly is a universal idea, one that we all find ourselves thinking about, perhaps when we least expect it. 

And the gentle reminder in this poem, that we need to slow down and to savor the mundane, the frustrating, is what poetry is about: it speaks a truth that we often have trouble admitting to ourselves. 

Comments

[writer2b]

Wow, good thoughts. As a mother with young children I appreciate this. Thanks!

[Jess]

This totally brought a tear to my eye... so true

[Jenny]

Thanks for the kind words...

[cloudscome]

AMEN! I need this poem right before bedtime. It's the endless needs at the end of the day that leave me gasping. I have to remember to cherish them because they go so fast and soon enough I will be waiting up for someone to come home or remember to call me... Bless those sweet faces!

[A Nana]

What a beautiful poem. As a parent of two grown men (I still refer to them as kids)I really miss the days when they needed their mother to wipe their tears, tell them everything will be all right and just be there when they decided to open up and let their feelings out about different things. Time goes by so quickly and children grow up too fast. Thank goodness I have grandchildren who let me hug them, squeeze them and kiss them. I am lucky, though, my "kids" still call me and make me feel needed and very much loved.

[Mary Lee]

Writer2b wasn't the only one moved to tears. This is a poem, for me, about the last crazy weeks of school and then the end of this family I've made...we've made... and it's all ending too fast. Thank you for this reminder. I will try to slow myself (if not time) down and cherish each of my students while I still can.

[Jenny]

It's a funny thing to think about -- how the very people we love most have the power to bring out the strongest of our emotions, even when those emotions are frustration, impatience, etc. It makes sense that it should be this way, but knowing this doesn't make it easier!

I'm not sure how to temper those feeling except to breathe...and remember that on the flip side of the more negative intense feeling are the wonderful ones. And I suppose that's what makes it all worthwhile, right?