Lost and Found

It only took one phrase to transport me…

“for whatever you lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea”

I’m 20 years old and sitting under a tree on the quad. It was a perfect spring day. I was a journalism major and was falling in love with the written word and for a boy that wrote poetry. In order to impress this boy with my well-rounded knowledge of English poetry (but also because I had time and curiosity), I was reading an anthology of poetry.

I was turning the pages, casually reading and trying to feel smarter and more worldly, when it happened. A poem spoke to me. It talked to me about losing and finding yourself. There was water and fun and youth. I reveled in the syntax and rhythm of the lines, and it made me smile.

Now, let’s jump forward to yesterday. I’m browsing Pinterest (surprise, surprise) and someone had pinned a line from the poem. I haven’t seen that poem in over a decade, and I instantly begin to recite it line for line. I went up to my attic to see if I could recover that book of poetry that I read under a tree so long ago. No luck. I must have donated it along with all of my other books I thought I no longer had the time, the patience, or the intellect to read.

It made me sad that I gave away that book. That I thought the girl that read poetry didn’t exist anymore. And, it’s partially true. I’m reading more Cooking Light than Elizabeth Barrett Browning or Robert Pinsky these days. But, I think I’m going to order that book (The Rattle Bag) from Amazon anyway. And put it on my nightstand. Maybe I’ll just re-read my poem every now and then or maybe I’ll be inspired to read a new poem or two. Who knows. Crazier things have happened.

maggie and milly and molly and may
by e.e. cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles, and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles; and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

*****
P.S. For those wondering, this poem inspired the name of my dog (Molly Mae)