dear emily,
this year i became a poetry reader after a lifetime of devouring books.
at first, i considered poems like the vegetables on my plate. "eat your
vegetables first and get them over with." i realized that my own words
would be richer if i read the condensed, perfectly chosen bites of great
poets. i hoped that sweetly written phrases like, "oh good, old brown
earth" (browning) would soak into my dry, crumbly soil.
now, however, i inhale these poems, because they are as addicting as my
daughter's roasted broccoli with garlic, red pepper, and parmesan. when
i savor a delicately seasoned refrain like, "twilight comes to the little farm,"
(carruth) it nourishes the hunger i didn't even know i had.
i pray that along with eating healthy doses of scripture, my crusty shell
will become good, old brown earth, yielding its own crop of nourishment.
of course, a lot of silly crops will grow there, too. if i eat my vegetables,
i should get my dessert.
love,
lea
"the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field." matthew 13:44
