I’ve never really been an avid poetry reader and I am petrified of the idea of writing my own, but every so often I stumble upon a poem that calls to me. In the one poetry class I forced myself to take as part of my English degree, I am still stuck with this one poem by Jane Hirshfield about how she’s many different woman, one when she showers, one when she brushes her hair, etc. It’s fantastic. Here’s another one by her that I stumbled upon today, which I enjoyed. Happy poem in your pocket day! (It’s not that day. That’s in April.)
Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight
Jane Hirshfield, 1953
her nose to the ground,
a rusty shadow
neither hunting nor playing.
One stood; sat; lay down; stood again.
One never moved,
except to turn her head a little as we walked.
Finally we drew too close,
and they vanished.
The woods took them back as if they had never been.
I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass.
But we kept walking,
speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.
There is more and more I tell no one,
strangers nor loves.
This slips into the heart
without hurry, as if it had never been.
And yet, among the trees, something has changed.
Something looks back from the trees,
and knows me for who I am.