I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler again in a year long poetry practice. On the first Friday of each month we, and anyone else who joins, writes a poem and shares it. This year the focus is going to be on using poems to inspire us.
"This month we will be writing about the influences in our life. Poet James Crew has posted the poem “I’d Rather Be Influenced” by Patrick Ramsay, and that’s the poem we will take inspiration from in June."
May was a hard month.
Each May, for the last 39 years, I've headed off for a long weekend with a diverse group of women friends. The Saturday before I left, I called my cousin Laura, the woman through whom the rest of us met, to sort out a few details as to who was coming, where we were all sleeping, and what to remember. The next morning I got a message that she had died in her sleep. After a lot of phone calls, four of us decided we needed to go to our cabin on the beach even if she wouldn't be there.
Ever since I got that terrible news, I been thinking about how much she, and being part of this group of friends, have influenced me. I've also been thinking that I need to be more like Laura: a down to earth woman of compassion, love, and laughter. She was the kind of person you felt safe around. She brought out the best in those of us who knew her. She was the closest thing to a big sister I ever had. My heart aches with missing her.
I started this poem while I was away, and then worked on it after returning home, Then I forgot all about it. I've been working like crazy in the garden and only realized it was Friday when I received notification of Linda's blog post!
Todays poem is dedicated to my beautiful cousin who leaves a huge hole in many hearts.
I’d Rather Be Influenced by Laura
to giggle more
letting myself be me
finding comfort
in my aging body
laughing uproariously
I’d rather be influenced
by inclusivity
celebrating difference
and finding common ground
not only with my fellow homo sapiens
but also with
with each and every being on this planet
to find holiness in
rocks and dirt,
birds, flowers, marmots, trees,
cacti, spiders,
even the invasive mallow,
whose roots I rip out with distressing regularity
and evening frog song
to cherish the rhythm of crickets