Blinders
Aug 18 2026
I tried hard to see something new today.
As if novelty
was in and of itself
a thing of worth.
As if I’ve been so jaded by life
I can feel the crust grow
and harden around me.
But it was all so familiar.
Which is when I closed my eyes
and listened,
reached out
and felt my way,
breathed deep, and held it,
sampling the air
like a wine-lover savours
a vintage year.
If seeing is believing
then I became a skeptic
and let my senses explain the world;
not by means of faith
but the laying on of hands
and the soft animal body
that centres itself
unthinkingly.
In the end, I crouched down
low as I could get
and saw through the eyes of a child.
All there was to wonder at
so nicely grounded
without my blinders on.
This lovely essay on the poet Mary Oliver’s life and work appeared in today’s Atlantic, prompted by an upcoming PBS documentary about her. I’ve referenced her work in at least one previous poem, and flatter myself that we bring a similar mindset to our writing. Although she achieves a beautiful simplicity, while my work tends to be too wordy, intellectualized, and complicated.
Right after putting the article down, I felt the urge to write. (As I so often do when I’ve read my fill, doesn’t matter what.) Naturally, I couldn’t help but channel her. The influence should be clear: a relatively short poem (for me!), a theme of close observation, and simple language that — I can only hope — carries a subversive gravitas that helps it land with quiet but unexpected force.
I wonder, if trapped in my usual style, would I ever have permitted so anodyne a word as “nicely”? Perhaps today, Mary Oliver made me brave.
I have to admit, though, that this poem makes me feel a little inauthentic: not so much as if I’ve plagiarized (after all, I did write it), but more as if an AI had been asked to write something in her style. …Nevertheless, if you think it’s any good, I’ll gladly take credit!
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