After my friend Shannon Baker sent me this poem by Kim Stafford a couple of months ago, I ran right out and bought Kim's latest book. I think you'll see why.
Some people presume to be hopeful when there is no evidence for hope, to be happy when there is no cause. Let me say now, I’m with them.
In deep darkness on a cold twig in a dangerous world, one first little fluff lets out a peep, a warble, a song—and in a little while, behold:
the first glimmer comes, then a glow filters through the misty trees, then the bold sun rises, then everyone starts bustling about.
And that first crazy optimist, can we forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn, “Hey, I made that happen! And oh, life is so fine.”
Copyright © 2022 by Kim Stafford. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 27, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
P.S. Kim explained the meaning of this poem: “Many times in my life I’ve been told by serious people that I must be very naïve to be happy, to have hope, to celebrate this little life I’ve been given when, actually, they say, everything is pretty dire. There’s war, poverty, crushing injustice all over—what right do I have to talk back to all that with flimsy little poems about the good? What can I say? The birds are my teachers, my elders, my guides. Every day before dawn, in silence and darkness, I’m at my desk making poems on the page. And then, before light, I hear the first bird outside begin to sing.”
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