January 2019
Chris Anderson
anderson7715@msn.com
anderson7715@msn.com
Author's Note: My big struggle with this poem was what to leave out—the sentence “You never know” kept getting cut and then being put back in, and the last two lines. Several poets I respect suggested I cut the last two lines, or part of them, and I just couldn’t do it. It just didn’t sound right, though I knew what these poets were getting at. Also line breaks. I did dozens of versions.
What was easy, though, was deciding that this was the title poem and the first poem of the new book, Never Know. When I was going through my new poems and deciding what to include, they all immediately organized themselves underneath this idea—“You Never Know” as in life is in a mystery beyond our grasp, but also as in there are surprises, too, partial knowledge, glimpses, and glimpses of something beautiful and good. I was surprised at how many of my poems are about this, in both senses, and how many actually use the word “know” or “knowing.” Who knew? For more about the book, and a way to buy it, see www.deaconchrisanderson.com, or find it on Amazon.
What was easy, though, was deciding that this was the title poem and the first poem of the new book, Never Know. When I was going through my new poems and deciding what to include, they all immediately organized themselves underneath this idea—“You Never Know” as in life is in a mystery beyond our grasp, but also as in there are surprises, too, partial knowledge, glimpses, and glimpses of something beautiful and good. I was surprised at how many of my poems are about this, in both senses, and how many actually use the word “know” or “knowing.” Who knew? For more about the book, and a way to buy it, see www.deaconchrisanderson.com, or find it on Amazon.
You Never Know
All those countless centuries
before I was born it wasn’t so bad.
I didn’t feel a thing.
Is this what it’s like when we die?
Do we just cease to exist?
Or do the angels fly out to greet us,
skimming over the bright green fields?
You never know.
When I had breakfast at Fairwinds Spokane,
Spokane’s premier luxury
retirement community,
the old women in their flowery blouses
and the men in their motorized chairs
chatted and laughed at the dining room tables
like kids in a school cafeteria,
and the sun streaked through the windows,
and the oatmeal steamed in our bowls,
and even my hunched
and befuddled father was smiling
for a moment, almost coherent.
I couldn’t have been
more surprised: how happy I was.
© 2018 Chris Anderson
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