Wednesday, November 18, 2015

That Little Beast by Mary Oliver


That Little Beast

That pretty little beast, a poem,
     has a mind of its own.
Sometimes I want it to crave apples
     but it wants red meat.
Sometimes I want to walk peacefully
     on the shore
and it wants to take off all its clothes
     and dive in.

Sometimes I want to use small words
     and make them important
and it starts shouting the dictionary,
     the opportunities.

Sometimes I want to sum up and give thanks,
     putting things in order
and it starts dancing around the room
     on its four furry legs, laughing
     and calling me outrageous.

But sometimes, when I’m thinking about you,
     and no doubt smiling,
it sits down quietly, one paw under its chin,
     and just listens.


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