{"id":5712,"date":"2013-04-14T18:26:06","date_gmt":"2013-04-14T22:26:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.beliefnet.com\/beginnersheart\/?p=5712"},"modified":"2013-04-14T18:29:36","modified_gmt":"2013-04-14T22:29:36","slug":"day-14-of-national-poetry-month","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/beginnersheart\/2013\/04\/day-14-of-national-poetry-month.html","title":{"rendered":"day 14 of National Poetry Month ~"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>I grew up moving. And losing things — as the Elizabeth Bishop villanelle I posted earlier <\/a>reminds us, the art of losing isn’t hard to master<\/em>. Except, of course, it is…<\/p>\n

Yesterday two of my sisters finally emptied an old dresser of my mother’s. Inside were old letters, photos, and ephemera from all over the world. My sister the keeper of everything familial asked me if I liked the irreplaceable grab bag of letters, postcards, poetry book (and more) that she gave me. Meaning: you aren’t going to throw this all away, are you??<\/em> \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n

And no, I’m not. My family all think I’m anti-stuff. I am — too much stuff weighs me down. But I’m certainly not anti-memorabilia, or scrapbooks, or photo memories, or the fragile markers of lives well-lived. It’s just that all my life — yes, literally — I’ve either had to move and leave belongings behind, or catastrophe (robbery, flood, fire, war…) has stolen them. I suppose I’m almost afraid to love them…<\/p>\n

From the age of no more than 9, I had to have a small suitcase packed w\/ whatever I wanted to take out w\/ me if we were evacuated from Vi\u1ec7t Nam. Even earlier, a flood took my red teddy bear, and my mother had to confirm, when asked, that yes, Teddy was gone.<\/p>\n

Class rings, graduation gifts, my sons’ bassinet, so many things lost. And always the knowledge that I might have to (as I did, more than once) move quickly, packing light. It’s the price of growing up an expatriate, I suppose. That feeling of no roots.<\/p>\n

So today’s poem is for the expats among us, celebrating not the losses but the exhilerating sense of possibility that a new country, language, & culture offer. There are few things I hate more than packing (root canal, maybe??). But there also is little I like as much as going somewhere new.<\/p>\n

Here’s Michael Hogan’s ‘Expatriate’:<\/p>\n

Expatriate<\/strong><\/p>\n

There is much to recommend
\nstaying where you are. Local
\nknowledge is the truest kind.
\nBut the suitcase is in my closet once again.
\nThe streets cough up a language
\nmy dog can’t comprehend.<\/p>\n

These moves choose me like love.
\nOr when love dies but clings
\nuntil I cut the white bars of skin
\nagainst the sharpest rock I find
\nto crawl newborn in the sun.<\/p>\n

Staying where you are
\nyou can still be startled in small ways:
\nthe August lightning, an implausible death,
\na glance in the bathroom mirror from a graceless angle.
\nBut to move again!
\nThe brain patterns itself and strains;
\nsynapses brighten, then dim.
\nThe rabbit heart beats wildly
\nin its tough tortoise skin.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I grew up moving. And losing things — as the Elizabeth Bishop villanelle I posted earlier reminds us, the art of losing isn’t hard to master. Except, of course, it is… Yesterday two of my sisters finally emptied an old dresser of my mother’s. Inside were old letters, photos, and ephemera from all over the…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":398,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[22],"tags":[11,1181,262,501,502,503,318,1190],"class_list":["post-5712","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-beginners-heart","tag-britton-gildersleeve","tag-buddhist-blogs","tag-expatriation","tag-impatriation","tag-michael-hogan","tag-national-poetry-month","tag-poetry"],"yoast_head":"\nday 14 of National Poetry Month ~ - Beginner's Heart<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"I grew up moving. 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Years spent living on the margins - in places with exotic names and food shortages - have left her with a visceral response to folks \u2018without,\u2019 as well as a desire to live her Buddhism in an engaged fashion. She\u2019s a writer and a teacher, the former director of a federal non-profit for teachers who write. She believes that if we talk to each other, we can learn to love each other (but she's still learning how). And she believes in tea. 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