Mother and Baby Boy and Gray Room: a poem by Wallace Stevens

9×12 acrylic figure painting
Mother and Baby Boy

Gray Room Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your pale white gown; Or lift one of the green beads\ Of your necklace, To let it fall; Or gaze at your green fan Printed with the red branches of a red willow; Or, with one finger, Move the leaf in the bowl–\ The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia Beside you… What is all this? I know how furiously your heart is beating.

Speaking of poetry, I started reading about e.e. cummings the other day, and found out he died in the same hospital as I was born, in North Conway, NH. Not the same year, he passed before I was born, but to think he knew that area, and had a farm there has me in a state of awe and wonder. How did I not know this?? All these years, I’ve read his poetry, and I didn’t know we have a little town in NH in common? It makes me wonder how very little I know about anything in life. sigh.

My mother died in the same hospital three years ago. It’s a small, small world. Now I want to read everything I can get my hands on about Mr. Cummings, but my poetry class marches on quickly. I have been struggling to keep up, so I’ll have to leave e.e. for when I have more time.