Everywhere Was Far

Now that the elections are finally over I can get back to something more interesting and closer to home, poetry. Actually since I gave all the money I was willing to give and voted several days ago, I’ve been enjoying myself in many ways unrelated to politics in the last few days.

On the more pleasant side, I’m finally reading Kevin Miller’s Everywhere Was Far. Kevin’s a local Tacoma poet who I met for breakfast earlier this year after Mike introduced us. Obviously I’m a biased reader, but, as noted many times, I probably always am. Still, it’s more fun finding a poem you really like when it’s written by someone you know.

There are actually many poems I like, but here’s my favorite in the first sixty pages:

In Her Garden

After a good rain, goldfinch string
their music through the serviceberry trees.
My wife thinks she's Saint Francis.
She charms the cedar waxwing
which lights close enough to touch.
She tells me Francis' theory of containers,
Take from the full, fill the empty.
This works for her, the music of birds,
a song from Francis, and all those nests
the shape of cupped hands waiting.

Since at times I find myself talking to the birds, I can easily identify with the poet’s wife. Perhaps I like it because it reminds me of a picture and haiku-like poem of Leslie hand feeding a Robber Jay that I posted while we were out cross country skiing years ago. Both seem to celebrate the same quality in someone we love.

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