I believe that one factor some folks have in opposition to studying poems is that they’re so typically so severe, so devoid of pleasure, as if we poets spend all our time thinking about mutability and loss of life and by no means having any enjoyable.
Right here Cornelius Eady, who lives and teaches in Indiana, affords us a poem of pure pleasure.
Editor’s Notice: This column is a reprint from the American Life in Poetry archive as we bid farewell to Ted Kooser, and work to finalize the brand new web site and forthcoming columns curated by Kwame Dawes.
A Small Second
I stroll into the bakery subsequent door
To my condo. They’re about
To tug some kind of toast with cheese
From the oven. After I ask:
What’s that odor? I’m being
A poet, I’m asking
What everybody else within the store
Wished to ask, however someway couldn’t;
I’m talking on behalf of two different
Prospects who needed to purchase the
Title of it. I ask the girl
Behind the counter for a share
Of her sale. Am I flirting?
Am I comfortable as a result of the times
Are longer? Right here’s what
She does: She takes her time
Selecting the slices. “I’m choosing
Out the nice ones,” she tells me. It’s
April 14th. Spring, with 5 to 10
Levels to go. Some days, I really feel my responsibility;
Some days, I like my work.
American Life in Poetry doesn’t settle for unsolicited manuscripts. It’s made doable by The Poetry Foundation, writer of Poetry journal. It’s also supported by the Division of English on the College of Nebraska, Lincoln. It’s also supported by the Division of English on the College of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 1997 by Cornelius Eady, from Hardheaded Climate: New and Chosen Poems (Putnam, 2008). Reprinted by permission of Cornelius Eady. Introduction copyright @2021 by The Poetry Basis. The introduction’s writer, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Advisor in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.