Late this summer I took out my copy of Mary Oliver’s Devotions and fingered through its many pages to reread some of my favorite poems. Doing this was not just a nice way to spend time on a free afternoon. For me it was much more: it was an act of hope.
As I made my way through a prolonged season of physical and emotional exhaustion brought on by intense medical treatments, this was one of the ways I was reaching for wonder. A way of reminding myself that hope does not depend on what I feel or don’t feel. That no matter my circumstances, it is always worth looking for truth and beauty.
On any given day I might find this in reading the psalms, in listening to music, in the encouraging words of a friend, in pausing to look at new buds on a rosebush or the shape of the clouds, in prayer, in poetry. On this particular day it was the poetry of Mary Oliver.
One of the reasons I love Oliver’s poetry is because of its accessibility. She once said in an interview that “poetry, to be understood, must be clear. It mustn’t be fancy.” Yet in her simplicity she is far from simplistic. With her careful choice of words, she creates a density of images and impressions that is both unique and relatable.
One of the poems I revisited that summer day is called “When the Roses Speak, I Pay Attention.” While I am not including the poem here due to copyright, you may enjoy searching for it yourself and reading it. (In fact, I recommend doing that now before reading further. Really. Go and read it!) A poignant poem, it offers a brief and sage commentary on the nature of life, death, and joy from the unusual perspective of roses in bloom.
The poem I wrote in response, its first draft scribbled in pencil on a scrap of paper while sitting in my backyard, is a kind of defiantly joyful prayer. A prayer that aspires to a life unparalyzed by fear and declares that no matter what I have had to walk through or what may still come, I will remain open. Open to the beauty around me, to hope when it whispers, to joy when it appears.
Perhaps these words will be an invitation. Perhaps you will join me in the serious and extravagant task of leaning into joy.
The Fragrance of Roses
A response to Mary Oliver’s poem “When the Roses Speak, I Pay Attention”
Lord, I want to spin with joy
as I take in the fragrance of roses,
nose pressed into small scented pillows,
layers of soft petals brushing my cheeks.
If this were the first day of my life
or if it is the last makes no difference.
I wish only for the extravagance of hope,
a mind full of attention,
and a heart thrown open to whatever joy may come.
