November 27, 2024: "The Suggestion Box," Thanksgiving Eve, Surrounded by Poetry

I often say that, if you are a poet, you're surrounded by poetry.  I have a poet friend who, in her birthday messages to me, says, "Happy birthday!  Now go write about it!"  I laugh every time, and then I start thinking about my next poem or blog post or essay.  

This evening, on a night-time walk, I saw a mountain ash tree still filled with orange berries, each cluster capped with snow, and I took out my camera to save the image.  This perfect clash of summer and winter.  Now, I'm writing this blog post about it.

Billy Collins is surrounded by possibilities . . . 

The Suggestion Box

by: Billy Collins

It all began fairly early in the day
at the coffee shop as it turned out
when the usual waitress said
I’ll bet you’re going to write a poem about this
after she had knocked a cup of coffee into my lap.

Then later in the morning I was told
by a student that I should write a poem
about the fire drill that was going on
as we all stood on the lawn outside our building.

In the afternoon a woman I barely knew
said you could write a poem about that,
pointing to a dirigible that was passing overhead.

And if all that were not enough,
a friend turned to me as we walked past
a man whose face was covered with tattoos
and said, I see poem coming!

Why is everyone being so helpful?
I wondered that evening by the shore of a lake.

Maybe I should write a poem
about all the people who think
they know what I should be writing poems about.

It was just then in the fading light that I spotted
a pair of ducks emerging
from a cluster of reeds to paddle out to open water,

the female glancing back over her russet shoulder
just in time to see me searching my pockets for a pen.

I knew it, she quacked, with a bit of a brogue.
But who can blame you for following your heart?
she went on.
Now, go write a lovely poem about me and the mister.

If you're wondering whether I'm constantly looking for poem ideas, the answer to that question is "yes" and "no."  Yes, I'm a person who watches for small moments of wonder and astonishment all day long.  I keep my eyes open for sunrises, beautiful leaves, white caps on Lake Superior, or a cobweb breathing in the corner.  No, I don't write a poem about each of those small moments, because I need to work, eat, walk, love.  There are so many poems begging to be written.

It is Thanksgiving Eve, and tomorrow, I will be walking a Turkey trot, drinking mimosas, and cooking a turkey dinner.  It's going to be a full day, with plenty of grace and wonder to be had.  I will say that Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays (not because I buy into the bullshit narrative of a friendly colonial feast between pilgrims and Indigenous people).  I just appreciate getting together with people I love, eating, laughing, and telling stories.  That is a great wonder.

I give thanks tonight for the deep breath of the coming day.  Yes, I may write a poem about eating turkey or walking in the snow with my puppy, or I may not.  There are people right now who are dealing with loss and grief, as well.  I may write about poem about that, or I may not.

Whatever tomorrow brings, Saint Marty is blessed with love in his life, and that just may be poem enough for him.