August 4: Vacation Poet, Sharon Olds, "The Missing Boy"

Well, it should come as no surprise that I would eventually choose Sharon Olds as the Poet of the Week.  Since I'm on vacation and indulging in some of my favorite things (a book by a friend, an early morning run, bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens), I decided to spend a week with Ms. Olds.

I once spent an entire week with Sharon Olds in California.  It was a writing workshop in Big Sur, and, for a few hours every day, I was able to sit and talk with her about the craft of poetry.  I still count that week as one of the most memorable times of my life.  Of course, it didn't hurt that I was on the Pacific coast and could spend the nights listening to the murmur and roar of ocean waves outside my cabin window.  Absolutely glorious.  Salt.  Surf.  Sharon Olds.  Poems.

So, Saint Marty is going back to Big Sur this week, spending a little time with one of his favorite poets.

The Missing Boy

by:  Sharon Olds

(for Etan Patz)

Every time we take the bus
my son sees the picture of the missing boy.
He looks at it like a mirror--the dark
straw hair, the pale skin,
the blue eyes, the electric-blue sneakers with
slashes of jagged gold.  But of course that
kid is little, only six and a half,
an age when things can happen to you,
when you're not really safe, and our son is seven,
practically fully grown--why, he would
tower over that kid if they could
find him and bring him right here on this bus and
stand them together.  He holds the pole,
wishing for that, the tape on the poster
gleaming over his head, beginning to
melt at the center and curl at the edges as it
ages.  At night, when I put him to bed,
my son holds my hand tight
and says he's sure that kid's all right,
nothing to worry about, he just
hopes he's getting the food he likes,
not just any old food, but the food
he likes the most, the food he is used to.