Such a cliche, maybe, but when I’m feeling lost, poems help me find my way. Often it’s the same ones that I go back to, reliable old friends that remind me what matters. Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Mary Oliver, Langston Hughes, e.e. cummings, Maya Angelou, Wendell Berry.
Sometimes I find new ones and they immediately become old friends. I know they’ll make the permanent rotation as soon as I read them. This is my new favorite:
It sums up my entire marriage. Matt and I, planners through and through, but so terrible at taking things slowly and deliberately when it comes right down to it.