On Wednesday afternoon, I got the most delicious and funny email from Melissa Darou, a local mama, writer, poet, and swimmer, who just completed a masters thesis on the ecological benefit of taking the perspective of water, which is one of the most beautiful and creative things I’ve read recently. Here is her offering.

From Melissa:

I just recorded Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem, “The Art of Disappearing”.  I’m on the ferry on my way to Vancouver Island to see my mum. There’s a golden sunset reflecting on ripples through the water. There’s a crew of little girls in pajama singing “Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden sun” at the front of the ship. I want to bottle their sweetness. 

As an introvert, who loves intimate small gatherings, I dread cocktail parties. They bring up all of my anxieties. I don’t like drinking very much and I’m scared of small talk. This poem captures that feeling. I love the image of the “greasy sausage balls on a paper plate” and the direction to “become a cabbage”.

I think I heard or read that when Brené Brown quit drinking alcohol, she just decided one day to stop going to cocktail parties. “You can do that?” I thought. What a liberating choice! 

This poem also hints at the importance of our precious time here and our choices. Remembering that we are impermanent and could just “tumble any second” could free us from choices that don’t serve us. 

Naomi Shihab Nye is one of my favourite poets. Her poetry is evocative and often has something like wit, truth, or a riddle woven into everyday language. One of the jobs of a good poem or poet is to wake us up.

The Art of Disappearing

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone is telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

Naomi Shihab Nye, from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems (Far Corner Books, 1995)