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Poem for Adults

 National Poetry Month ended yesterday, but here's one more, by Jane Kenyon:

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

Kenyon seems to be talking about God, or a God-esque thing. A spirit that can work miracles: feed the prisoner, contract the heart, fill the pitcher until it spills. There is a tension in the poem between abundance and starvation: having food and being a prisoner, having fruit and being widowed, having patience and being among dryness and weeds.

It's not that bad things go away; there will always be a prison. But there's also a decent thing, "the one whose love overcomes you, already with you when you think to call my name."

It's said that Kenyon dealt with depression; I think this is why there is a kind of steeliness running through the poem, even with the happy images. That's interesting to me. This poem is called "Briefly it Enters, and Briefly Speaks."
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