This week I received a hand-written letter from a woman I have never met.
The stranger, Margaret, took the trouble to write to share with me a poem she thought I might appreciate. It reminded her of my recent column on the joy of high heels.
I’m sure you do this all the time. Take out a beautiful piece of stationary and write a total stranger an interesting, thoughtful two-page letter. Exactly. You know what I’m saying.
The poem she sent was one she had memorized in 1955. She apologized in her letter for not sending me a typed letter; she didn’t have a typewriter on hand.
I fear that all this grace, sensitivity and thoughtfulness is bottled up in perhaps her generation and slowly leaving our planet. I can’t imagine a culture without people like this woman, people who reach out and share something from their hearts for no other reason than to brighten another person’s day.
She brightened my day. She brightened my whole month.
I’m sure you have had the opportunity to touch someone’s heart recently, or right now. Or in the next 10 minutes.
Go ahead, take a moment and repeat all the poems you memorized 45 years ago. OK, maybe it wasn’t 45 years ago. How many poems do you know by heart?
I know one poem, “The Owl and the Pussycat.” I haven’t had the occasion to send it to anyone. I really need to rethink my position and find someone to send it to.
I carry her letter with me everywhere. I want to show it to everyone. But everyone seems to be too busy to stop long enough for me to share this card and this poem.
I’m a bit surprised noticing how scheduled people are. I don’t suppose that memorizing a poem is on the schedule today. How about reading one?
Maybe scheduled is not the right word. The word could be agendized, pda’d, booked solidly through the day. Every moment has some project attached to it. People say “How are you?” like it’s a polite handshake.
No one is prepared for me to whip out this letter and clever poem. They will need to stop doing three things at once while talking to me.
It’s not a short poem. The poem is sassy and juicy. It has some words that most folks don’t use: mellifluously and nictitate.
But people don’t have time to talk about poems in their busy, overscheduled day.
Too bad.
I am grateful for the poem and the letter. Margaret reminded me to make more room for poetry. She reminded me to reach out to strangers. She reminded me to say what is in my heart. She reminded me to stop and remember a poem so it will always be with me.
You never know where the road leads. Someday a poem passed along can brighten a day or a whole month.
Sarri Gilman is a freelance writer living on Whidbey Island. Her column on living with meaning and purpose runs every other Tuesday in The Herald. She is a therapist, a wife and a mother, and has founded two nonprofit organizations to serve homeless children. You can e-mail her at features@heraldnet.com.
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