☀️ Staying Power #180: "Someones" (reprise)
Poetry helps make us someones to one another
Published on occasional Sundays, Staying Power is one of the newsletters of The Raft, the online community of author Phyllis Cole-Dai. We Rafters ride the river of life buoyed by music, poetry, and other arts, plus water-drops of wisdom. Most everything here is free, but patrons (paid subscribers) get some special perks as a gesture of gratitude.
The following poem originally appeared in slightly different form on January 2, 2023. It sprang from a tender moment I’d shared with my mother while visiting her over the holidays. (Mom passed away this October.)
Thank you for accepting these repostings of original material in lieu of new writings as I prepare to move from South Dakota to Maryland in early January.
SOMEONES Phyllis Cole-Dai Upon reading John O’Donohue’s “Beannacht” to my 82-year-old mother at Christmas I sit with her on the edge of her bed, one arm tight around her shoulders, wire holding her together, reciting for her the Irish blessing a friend had sent her with a note: Ask your daughter to read you this poem when she comes to visit. That handwritten request had slipped her memory, the hand-copied poem too. But after our hugging, she'd given me the basket stacked with her holiday mail, wanting me to know everything about everyone she knows, even those souls she's forgotten. I'm reading the poem aloud like a small loaf of bread, feeding its bits of lines to the eager mouth of her life. She keeps leaning in. She prefers poems with rhyme and meter. This blessing has neither, but she hears its music in the love of my voice. It means so much more when someone reads it, she says when I’m done, and at this late hour I’m glad to be her someone, as she is someone for me, knit together by words being spoken, broken open by words being heard.
Poetry has the power to make us all “someones” to one another.
Last week I invited you to read a poem to someone you care about and, if that someone was agreeable, to snap a picture of you together, then send it to me via email (phyllis@phylliscoledai.com).
Here’s a photo from sisters Ginny Hartman (l) and Sharon Kraybill (r), the latter of whom was recovering from eye surgery.
There’s no expiration date on this invitation. Nor a limit on how many photos you may send me. I’ll add your image(s) to a photo gallery of Rafters Who Gift the Reading of Poems.
Let’s lend poetry our voices. For the sake of those people who need it.
The Gentle Nudge
ANYTIME: Lay a blessing stone here. (Learn about our blessing-stone practice at this link.)
THURSDAY: Poetry Pick-Me-Up (Zoom, 12:00-1:00PM Central, at this link)
TODAY: “Calming the Heart” patron bash with James Crews (Zoom, December 15, 6PM CT).
TODAY: Final day of my 50% off Thanksiversary sale! Details here.
THRU 1/31/25: Write a cento for a midwinter cento celebration. Details here.
‘the basket stacked with her holiday mail,
wanting me to know everything
about everyone she knows,
even those souls she's forgotten.’ Thank you for your lovely poem. ❤️
My mom found great joy in the sending and receiving of Christmas cards every year. You have brought to my mind the many times her basket of cards brought me joy through our conversations over them and the many stories she told of people they loved. May your Christmas be filled with joy, peace and love. ✨💜
I love this, Phyllis. It brought tears for me also. It's a lovely memory. I remember when I was around 10 -12 years old reading poetry to my mother from one of her huge books of classics, while she ironed clothes, and I sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor. And again, 50 years later, when she was ailing, and then hospitalized, and in hospice, I read to her whenever she wanted me to. I hadn't thought of that in a while and now it's bittersweet, but rightly so. I do miss her. And miss reading to her. I cherish the memory. One of her favorite old books for me to read from at the end of her life was "Slovenly Peter or Cheerful Stories and Funny Pictures for Good Little Folks" a classic German book of cautionary tales for children. It used to scare the daylights out of me and my older sister when we were small. Another was "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes". She loved children's books. I love children's books. Never have gotten rid of my kids' books and they're all adults. The books are boxed up and awaiting my hypothetical future grandchildren. Maybe one of them will read to me.