Our prompt this month was to write a poem based on something overheard (as inspired by Susan Thomsen at Chicken Spaghetti). (And yay — as a bonus, it automatically fulfills our larger goal of writing about or in conversation, since we are responding to/jumping off of other people’s thoughts and words.) I almost let this one go, in between a whirlwind trip to NCTE, family stuff, and holiday whatnot. So what you’re getting is an early-morning first draft. Some months are like that…
Overheard
Liz Garton Scanlon
I heard a woman say, my heart
about fell out, and I could tell she meant
it as a good thing – good, but sad –
a way to make sense of the stuff that’s fleeting,
that knocks you sideways with beauty
and tenderness and keen, astounding pain,
the stuff that catches in your throat
with a thrum.
I think of waking from a dream about my grandmother,
a dream so real, I could feel the raised veins of her hands
as she pressed a coin into my palm.
And that drive we took to the ocean,
back when we were still new to each other,
when we were out of our minds in love and I wanted
(so desperately) to put my feet in the frothy spray
that I flew from the car and left my door wide open,
left you, just standing there.
And what about the skin of a birch tree
or those first achey notes from a cello
or turning the corner at the Uffizi and seeing
The Birth of Venus, radiant and alive,
and not knowing what to say?
My heart about fell out is right,
as my children come and go again,
as light falls too early in winter, as I sit here
with this candle burning down.
My heart. My heart.
Go visit my sisters now to read theirs:
Tanita
Mary Lee
Laura
Sara
Tricia
And Poetry Friday is at Buffy Silverman’s today!
If you want to join us next month, to close out another year of poems, we’ll be writing about the light, hope and peace. Because we all need more of all of that. Until then, be well, friends. I’m so grateful for all of you.
A life well lived: making sense of the stuff that’s fleeting. Yes. Thank you, Liz.
Finding small moments that are what matters in our lives from that one line made me keep saying, “yes” and “yes”, Liz. I’m happy that you didn’t skip! Enjoy December with more “heart fell out” moments!
So much beauty to touch your (and the readers!) heart–the imagined feel of the raised veins, the frothy spray, the skin of the birch tree, the light falling too early. Thanks for sharing it.
Beautiful. You took that one and ran, Liz. I don’t know if you heard your line in Texas, but it sure sounds Southern to me. I once heard someone in a store in Nashville describing a super busy time with “I like to have went nuts.” I just love that.
Yes, that is SO southern. I like to have went nuts A LOT these days!!
That first stanza was something I could relate to. Such visceral images. I love it when words can grab you emotionally like that.
My goodness…this poem…it’s an adventure and full of surprises the whole way through. I love it! The structure of moving backward in time is very cool…all the way to to that candle flickering out…which of course you didn’t say it did. But, in my mind it did. Beautiful. Just, beautiful. Happy Thanksgiving!
Liz, what a great line you overheard. I love that you reflected back to your dream of your grandmother, the thinking of the birch tree and cello, and then reflecting on your children.
Wow. That ocean stanza and the final stanza totally gutted me, Liz. Beautiful! Also, I missed the inspired by part and created my poem entirely out of overheard lines (best that I could remember). Sigh. Oops.
I don’t think you oopsed! I think we all did it differently!
I really like how you come back to “My heart about fell out” in your closing stanza, I can feel the tugging of emotions and welling up of my heart from your heart-filled-full poem, beautiful, thanks!
Well, that was lovely, Liz – I don’t often think about the throwaway lines people use like that, but truly, we *do* know what that feels like, when our hearts about fall out – that ache of surprising nostalgia, of a heart beating hard to wrap its love around us like a worn shawl – how it lifts up at a strain of music — This poem takes us on a journey and brings us home again.
So. Very. Lovely. I like the way you took a single overheard line and squeezed so much sweetness and truth from it.
“…keen, astounding pain.” Oh, Liz, this is a poem to sink into. I feel it down to my about-to-fall-out heart.
I am coming to this post late. As a southerner, I can hear “my heart just about fell out” with a southern drawl to it. I regret that we did not meet face to face at NCTE. How did that happen?