Helen Montague Foster
FOR A PATIENT:
YOU SAID YOU HATED POEMS
because you didn’t get what they meant.
I said poetry is a language of pictures.
I meant to show you how to pick a calming
song for singing to yourself. You asked:
How can you calm yourself; you are yourself.
I said: None of us is single-minded.
I meant: Feel the breath of your lost
daughters in the wind.
Let songbirds into your room, and when
the naked child you know is you
runs screaming in fear,
scoop her up. Wash her. Clothe her.
Rock her. Tell her, hush, lost-girl,
I’ve found you.
—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010
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