A Poem

A beautiful poem, "Still Falling for Her," by Sharon Olds in last week's New Yorker.  Here are the closing lines:

"I think I may go on falling, like my own
flesh, for the rest of my life, and maybe I'll
still be falling for my mother after
my death--or not falling but orbiting,
with her, and maybe we'll take turns,
who is the moon, and who is the earth."

Read the whole poem here.  Sharon Olds is one of my favorite poets.  Not surprisingly, Liz introduced me to her.  I've often felt challenged by poetry but her work I find immediately accessible and deeply moving.  My mom loved poetry but I've come to it fairly late in life.  I'm always struck by how so few words can hold so much meaning.