The Sunday Poem2022-01-22T21:34:00-05:00

The Sunday Poem

The Sunday Poem: “Coffee Break” by Kwame Dawes

The repetition of words and phrases in “Coffee Break”—such as “Coffee would be nice”—lends this poem an incantatory, prayer-like quality that often appears in Kwame Dawes’ work. But what we think will be a portrait of a man offering to make his sick friend a cup of coffee on a cool evening, quickly becomes a larger meditation on life’s transience.

The Sunday Poem: “Tutuwas” by Joseph Bruchac

One can almost hear the song of a rustling wind passing through tree branches in the word, “Tutuwas,” which the poet uses here. Tracing the etymology of this evocative term, Joseph Bruchac writes that “Tutuwas” carries “more than one connotation. It’s the name of a song that’s also called ‘Little Pines,’ which can be heard in all our various Wabanaki nations throughout New England.

The Sunday Poem: “Arctic Night, Lights Across the Sky” by Linda Hogan

As she does in so much of her work, Linda Hogan fosters a quiet yet wide-sweeping intimacy in this poem. Here, we find the affection of a speaker and her beloved, “em-braced/in animal presence,” curled up with their dog and cat before bed on a winter night. Yet Hogan masterfully extends this closeness until the whole world is also held at the warm center of this late night scene.

The Sunday Poem: “Winter Heat” by Sierra Golden

I always try to be on the lookout for moments of sudden attention in my life, like the one Sierra Golden describes so vividly in “Winter Heat.” Like her, I believe this is how a poem happens: some sound or image observed in stillness shifts something inside us, and we do our best to find the language to capture that unexpected change in perception.

The Sunday Poem: “Praise Song” by Barbara Crooker

I resonate with the stubborn optimism of this poem, the way the speaker seems to be convincing herself, with the repetition of the word, “praise,” over and over, that there’s still beauty in “what little there’s left” at the end of November, before winter sets in.

The Sunday Poem: “Thanksgiving for Two” by Marjorie Saiser

It's difficult to resist the social pressure that turns the holidays into an excuse for consumption and stress. Yet Marjorie Saiser brings love and acceptance to a situation that might anger or disappoint other parents: her children will not be coming home for Thanksgiving.

The Sunday Poem: “Shavasana” by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

This poem from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s luminous collection, Hush, challenges our typical fears of the cycles of mortality. Instead of resisting or bemoaning the “uncertainty” with which we all must live out lives, not knowing when they’ll end, or when our loved ones will pass on, she chooses to celebrate how “the field rehearses to die."

The Sunday Poem: “Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you.” by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Gabrielle Calvocoressi’s poem, part of their “Miss You” series, captures the longing for a lost loved one with tenderness and fearless vulnerability. Through the listing of intimate details from the relationship—the “shrimp saganaki” they once made, the now-hip “puffy blue jacket” they once wore—Calvocoressi brings the lost one back to life, however briefly, in each reader’s imagination.

The Sunday Poem: “Essence” by Kai Coggin

At a time when so many of us are watching gardens fade and dead leaves twirl down from the trees, it can be useful to meditate on the beginnings of all the plant life around us, reminding ourselves that they too will soon sprout again.

The Sunday Poem: “About Standing (in Kinship)” by Kimberly Blaeser

It’s fitting that such a seemingly “small” poem, pointing to the fact that we each share “the same little bones” in our feet, should also hold so much wisdom. Kimberly Blaeser’s intention, after all, is to find the ways that we are all alike, rather than what divides us.

The Sunday Poem: “The Ever-Given” by Diana Whitney

Our culture, and the people in our lives who don’t always understand depression, can often imply that it is a made-up or fleeting thing—“a wraith or a demon.” Yet Diana Whitney’s moving and precise poem tells the truth about the psychological and emotional weight of something that bears down on us like a “huge container ship,” blocking all movement.

The Sunday Poem: “Bowl” by Heather Swan

The practice Heather Swan refers to in the last stanza of “Bowl” is called kintsugi, which in Japanese means literally, “golden joinery.” Yet this drive to highlight the cracks in something—what some might call its failures—goes against the message most of us receive throughout our lives, that we should be striving for a perfection I’m not even sure exists for anyone.

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