“The most important thing in the world”, they say, “is to find your center
where the oughts and the want-tos align
“Like a bridge”, they say, “Or like orion on a clear night.”
But then I read 4 poems of Stafford and think, “This
is the most important thing in the world.”
I consume a book on how to teach, no, how to inspire,
cajole, and convince one single student to learn. “Think”, I say,
“Of the trees, of the sap syphoning life to the leaves.
You are a tree” I say, and one single student believes me.
I think, “This is the most important thing in the world.”
My wife and my friends counsel me. I hear their wisdom
like a child sitting outside a baseball stadium.
He hears the crack of the bat,
the ecstasy of the crowd, and wonders what all the excitement is.
“Your children need you” these voices roar from a distance
and I think
this is
the most important thing in the world.
At church immigrants come and tell their story,
tell of a life more difficult than mine, but still full
of fear and labor and hope. Their skin is different
than mine and their words sound different than mine
and they pin their hair up in strange ways.
But they want what I want and
I think,
this is the most important thing
in the world.
I read the newspaper and the pundits say, “Democracy is failing!”, say, “Complete global annihilation!”, say, “Call your senator” and I think, this is not the most important thing in the world.
My students are asking me when their homework is due.
They are not asking me again what is real,
not asking how they can know what to know, not asking
who will tell them truth. They are smolts in a stream
and I desperately want to save them from the ocean.
They thirst for salt, though,
and I think this could be the most important thing in the world.
On the way home I stop and eavesdrop. A dandelion
is saying goodbye to her seeds,
commending them to the sun and the open air,
telling them
not to be afraid of the fall.
I think this is the most important thing in the world.