Last night I went to the library to look for some poetry books for Poppy. I came away with one for myself: “Good Poems,” an anthology put together by Garrison Keillor. (His introduction to the collection is wonderful. Don’t skip it.)

This poem, by Anne Sexton, was the first I read. It made me cry. I’d like to put it into illuminated-manuscript form and hang it on my bedroom wall.

Welcome Morning

There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry “hello there, Anne”
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.

All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean
though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard,
dies young.

I didn’t start this as a “Works for Me Wednesday” post. But the more I think about it, reading poetry does work for me. I haven’t read much of it lately. I’d “forgotten how big,” how restorative it can be. I’m so glad that I ended my evening with “Welcome Morning” rather than finishing the day with “American Idol.” A good poem makes me want to read more and to write. Whether or not I’ll actually pick up the pen is another question, but it feels good to want to do it. A good poem calms me and gives me perspective and makes me feel centered — all things I certainly could use on a daily basis.

I think I’m going to buy a copy of “Good Poems” to keep on my bedside table.

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