Give the gift of a poem . . . .  

Don’t know what to give that special someone?  Three days ‘til Christmas eve, Kwanza five days away, a New Year just around the corner; whatever the occasion, don’t forget you can give a poem.  A poem costs nothing but your time, asks nothing more, nothing less than your heart. 

Recently, someone I met asked me for a poem.  I have thought about his request, not sure what poem I could write, or how to get started.  When faced with what to give someone I didn’t know well, but getting to know better every day, I realized the best thing to give would be what he asked for. 

At lunch today, I was determined to write a gift poem.  I didn’t have time between my little seedless oranges, and salami crusted in black pepper and Colby cheese on dinner rolls, to spend any more time pondering.  So I said to myself, what is my “theme”?  Currently my theme is IMAGINED LOVE.  Such irony.

Here is the first draft of my gift poem (I will also be giving him the book Curious?: Discover the Missing Ingredient to a Fulfilling Life by Todd Kashdan .  Go ahead.  Write a gift poem today.  On your afternoon break.  Or, tomorrow at lunch.

No one to give a poem to?  Give it to me.  Or better yet, give it to the world.

NAME GOES HERE

asked me for a poem.  A clever and brazen

request.  It’s not so easy.  Poems come and go.  Fly

like rage into the night; pink elephants big and heavy,

sobering.  How to write a show poem full of dance

and song.  Happy is a place I know, though who would believe it? 

Words run amok telling stories bound in anger; reactions. 

I am safe inside a poem.

Outside when the wind blows bullets, I hunker low

and eat silence, not so brave.  Today,

I ask forgiveness.  Talk and write from a gentle heart,

my gut recovering slowly.  Forgive me for not knowing

the devil in men sooner than later.  But do you believe

in fate?  The world spins so quickly.  I was afraid

I would be left dying, pronounced imperfect, immoral. 

If intuitively I could have recognized love’s imperfections,

instead of believing because someone says s/he loves you

s/he loves you.  Some clichés are to be taken seriously actions

speak louder than words (this is not about you).  To speak/action.  Not

to speak/inaction.   A poet needs words, has faith in words. You have asked

for a poem and here it is.  You have said tell me so I understand. 

Thank you.  So here it is.  You, I have taken slowly. 

Cautious.  Devil and angel.   I embrace you, trustworthy,

with wild enthusiasm.  I don’t expect devil to harm, nor angel

to deceive.  Still, I won’t imagine conclusions because

I am not seeking endings.  In answer to your question, yes,

I believe in fate; I also believe in choice.  Thank you

for the conversation, please, more.  Curiosity

is the Christmas gift I give to both of us. 

Sherry Quan Lee

Copyright, December 21, 2009

First Draft